Bannon & Zevran Bk I: Origins Ch3: Partners in Crime
by Bloodsong 13T
Summary: Bannon & Zevran: one of the quickest, slickest, smartest, conniving, lying, thieving, assassining, & insanely annoying rogue duos ever. The elves become thick as thieves. Well, thieves and assassins. Oh, and they work on saving the world, too.
1. The Candy Incident

**The Candy Incident**

_CONTENT:_

Rating: Teen

Flavor: Humor

Language: some

Violence: a little scuffling

Nudity: artwork

Sex: none

Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Welcome to Chapter 3 of Bannon & Zevran: Origins, entitled Partners in Crime. If you just came in here, be advised that the saga starts in Bannon & Zevran: Bk I Origins: Prelude, and continues through Chapter 1: The Grey Wardens and 2: A Wolf in the Fold.

This segment was previously released as a teaser on the Bioware boards. This version contains more content. Enjoy it all over again! (Or for the first time.) (Note: The forum and WordPress versions of this chapter have illustrations. See my bio for links.)

As a reminder, I've made Sten the 'new' grey, horned type of qunari. Just to avoid the whole mess of clashing canon.

* * *

**The Candy Incident**

===#===

_Those of the elven race make ideal slaves. They can subsist on very little food while making up for it in more hours of sleep. Therefore, it is recommended their rations be halved during the fallow season._

_Food will never be wasted on elven slaves, for they do not run to fat. Instead, all they eat will be converted into energy. A small ration of rich or sugary food will go a long way to producing longer work hours from an elf._

- Tevinter Treatise on the Races of Thedas

_Some elves from the city have an over-developed sweet tooth. Note: giving sugar to a city elf may be hazardous to your health. - BG_

(A note scribbled in the margin)

===#===

Wynne got to know her new companions a little better on the road that afternoon. She first tried to talk to the qunari, whom she hadn't met in the Tower. He hadn't been with the Wardens when they'd fought the demons and Uldred. She didn't often get to see the tall, grey, horned race; certainly not up close. She greeted him politely enough, but his stony face creased in a snarl. "Do not come near me, beast," he growled. He turned away. "Why must we bring these uncollared _saarebas_ with us?"

The elf Warden, Bannon, was there to handle the qunari's question. "Sten, what do you do with your sarry-basses when there's a battle?"

The giant grumbled something incoherent.

"Mages are good in a fight. And we're going to be doing what?" The elf waited for a reply, like a teacher with a particularly slow student. Sten just glowered. "Fighting a lot of darkspawn," Bannon finished. "And Wynne is a healer. So if you plan on getting shot full of crossbow bolts again, you might want to be nice to her."

"_Vashedan!_" the giant spit. He brushed past the elf and strode up the road, looking as if he planned to leave them all behind.

Bannon didn't seem to care. He smiled apologetically at Wynne. "Sorry about that. Though maybe you don't want to talk to him."

"I suppose not," she agreed.

Alistair came up beside her. "Have you got everything?" he asked for the thirtieth time at least. "Do you need me to carry your pack?"

"Honestly, Alistair; I'm fine. I'm quite the accomplished traveler." Wynne settled her pack, gripped her staff, and started out. It was good to be outside the Tower walls again.

The young man turned to Bannon a moment. "You really ought to rethink this strategy of annoying Sten."

"I'm not annoying him. He wants to follow his logic, he's going to get logic."

"Still, maybe a peace offering of some cookies or sweets would go a long way."

The blond elf called to Bannon. He had a flavorful accent; Wynne wondered where he was from. Bannon went off and started arguing with him, up ahead. Alistair fell in beside Wynne. The young woman, Leliana, was a few steps behind them, but that other woman, the dark-haired one, seemed to be absent.

"Have you done much traveling?" Alistair asked Wynne.

"Yes, I have. I've spent some time in Amaranthine and Denerim."

"I'm from Redcliffe."

"Ah, you are a local boy, then," Wynne said with a smile.

"Yes, mum."

"Oh, there's no need for that. It's just Wynne. No need for 'ser' and 'mum' out on the road, is there?"

"I guess not, mum. Er, I mean, Wynne."

She chuckled. "You remind me of the Templars."

"I was in Templar training," he said. "Before I was recruited into the Wardens. I didn't really become a full Templar," he was quick to explain. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. Really, I'm just... mostly harmless."

"You don't make me uncomfortable. Really, Alistair. I've known a fair share of good Templars in my life."

"Oh."

Wynne got the feeling there was a whole lot behind that little syllable, but didn't think now was the time to pursue it. Alistair seemed uncomfortable enough. "I'm curious about the other Grey Wardens," she said. "Where are they? Off securing your other allies?"

"Uh... we're... it, actually," he replied uncomfortably.

"What do you mean?"

He took a breath. "The Grey Wardens died at Ostagar. All of them. Except me and Bannon. Us two." Then his words started to tumble out. "We weren't in the actual battle. Just put aside, out of the way. We... actually, we would be dead now, too, except... Um, well, I'm not sure really. I was told that Flemeth turned into a giant bird and rescued us."

"Flemeth?"

"That's Morrigan's mother."

"Like the woman in the legends?"

"Hmmm..." Alistair thought a few moments. "Actually, it might be her? I don't know, is it possible for a witch to live that long? Extend her life, somehow?"

Wynne contemplated it. Before she could form an opinion, there was a scuffle up ahead.

The two elves raised their voices, arguing about something. A moment later, it turned to fisticuffs. They careened back and forth across the path, flailing.

"Oh, knock it off!" Alistair called. He went ahead to pull the two apart. "Shouldn't you guys be scouting ahead?"

"I thought Morrigan was doing that," Bannon said.

"Sten is doing that," Zevran said almost at the same time.

"Maybe you should go far, far, _far_ ahead," Alistair insisted. By this time, Wynne and Leliana had caught up with them, so the elves had to get moving again, grumbling and complaining all the while.

Alistair fell back beside the women again. To Leliana, he said, "Next time, it's your turn."

"My turn? Alistair, I thought you were the appointed elven babysitter."

"Oh-ho no! You are not sticking me with that job."

"Surely your chivalry and valor will not allow you to dump this sort of job on a young, virtuous Chantry Sister?"

"I... well... you..." Alistair frowned. "That's cheating."

"Surely you exaggerate," Wynne said. "They're two grown men."

"Oh, are they?" Alistair quipped. "I couldn't tell." Leliana laughed.

Wynne shook her head. Then she recalled their argument about pie, back in the Tower. That was only the beginning of her doubts. But she'd learn, soon enough.

===#===

They caught up with a dwarven trader and his son as eventide was nearing. Wynne was introduced to Bodahn and Sandahl (and Toby!). She learned that he usually followed the Grey Warden group on their travels and shared their camp at night. Alistair fetched some tents from the donkey cart. Wynne recalled Bannon talking about trying to procure one of their own, and she quickly saw the wisdom in that. Not only did the merchant provide a tent that she didn't have to carry, but he also gave her a folding cot that fit in it. Although 'gave' wasn't the exact term. Bannon was apparently renting gear from the dwarf. She recalled him mentioning that he handled the group's money.

Better him than her. She wasn't that well-versed in current prices and the value of a coin. She was simply happy to have a cozy tent, a cot, a stool, a crate that doubled as a shelf and a small table, and an oil lamp. Alistair and Leliana helped get her set up, then started erecting the other tents. Morrigan was already there at the campsite when they'd arrived. She had her own tent set up in a corner of the clearing. The elves were setting up a fire, and Wynne waited nearby to see if she could help with the dinner preparations.

===#===

"Hey!" Bannon stomped over to Zevran and swiped a bag out of his hand. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Eating," the Antivan said with his mouth full.

With an angry frown, Bannon peered into the bag. "How many of these did you eat?"

"Not quite a whole dozen," the other elf replied. He chewed a bit more, swallowed, then made a swipe at the bag.

Bannon jerked it out of his reach. "Oh, that's it! You are standing watch tonight!"

Alistair came over from where he and Leliana had been getting their tents set up. "He can't stand watch," the Templar said nervously. "Not by himself! What if he decides to finally kill us?"

"He ate half this bag of candy-"

"-Barely one third!-"

"Do you have any idea what that much sugar does to an elf?" Bannon finished, ignoring the Antivan, and shaking the bag meaningfully at Alistair.

"Uh... he'll get a tummy-ache?" the human guessed.

"We should be so lucky!" Bannon threw his hands up in a frustrated gesture. "He'll be awake for three days straight!"

Over by the fire, Wynne gave Leliana a worried look. "What's going on? Why would that young man kill you?"

"Zevran is a Crow Assassin," the Chantry sister explained calmly. "He was hired to kill the Grey Wardens."

"But he's here, now?" Wynne turned to look at the elves, her brow creased in puzzlement.

"That is a long story. I can tell it to you while we prepare the stew, yes?" Leliana went to fetch some carrots and a leg of mutton from their stores. Wynne followed hesitantly, stepping backwards as she watched the drama unfolding between the two elves and the Templar.

Zevran's ears perked up at the mention of food. "Dinner? Splendid!" He turned to offer his assistance- but Bannon collared him.

"Not a chance!"

"But a handful of candy is not a proper meal! My mother used to tell me so all the time!" He yanked himself free from Bannon's grip.

The Denerim elf growled. "First my pie, now my candy! That's for emergencies!"

"Your pie?" the assassin sputtered. "It was everybody's pie! We share, do we not?"

"You were supposed to have _one_ piece of pie. And I did _not_ say you could 'share' my candy!"

Alistair threw his hands up in surrender and walked over to give the women a hand. Sten just watched stoically from his post guarding the path to the campsite. Leliana gave Alistair the meat, and he busied himself shredding bits of it into the stewpot. She handed Wynne a basket of peas for shelling, and she herself set about cutting up some carrots and a turnip.

The bard then began to relate the tale. "You recall that Loghain retreated at Ostagar, leaving the King and all the Grey Wardens to be slain by the darkspawn."

"Yes," Wynne said quietly. "I was there. But the mages were evacuated before the troops pulled out."

"More of Loghain's machinations, no doubt," Alistair growled bitterly.

Wynne looked up with a curious tilt to her head. Leliana stepped in to explain. "It is Alistair's belief that Loghain planned this desertion, and is a traitor to his King and country."

The mage's jaw dropped in shock. "But why? Why would he do such a thing?"

"Well, he has claimed power in Ferelden, yes?" Leliana explained, her voice ever calm and soothing, like a cool stream. "Whether he planned to usurp this power or not, the fact remains he has benefited from the King's death. It is also true, as told to us by Zevran himself, that Loghain and a man named Rendon Howe hired the Crow Assassins to finish off any surviving Grey Wardens."

"That makes no sense!" Wynne insisted.

The bard paused in her cutting to meet Wynne's eyes with her own frank, blue-grey gaze. "Perhaps not to us, who believe this is a true Blight. But many folk believe in Loghain and follow him." She returned to her cutting, and her story, ignoring the raised voices of the arguing elves a few feet away. "Zevran ambushed us on the road outside of Redcliffe. We fought him and his mercenaries, and we had thought Alistair and Bannon had killed him. However, it turns out he was only knocked unconscious. When we were interrogating him, he explained how he was a slave to the Crows and wished to join us in order to be free of them."

Wynne twisted her head again to look in the elves' direction. "And you believed him?" she asked incredulously.

"Not even Alistair is that stupid," Morrigan supplied, carrying up another cut tree stump to serve as a stool near the fire. She handed Leliana a few small packets of spices, and the bard added them to the stew.

"No one in their right mind would believe such a story," Leliana said smoothly, "coming from an assassin hired to kill them, who was in imminent danger of losing his own life. But freeing someone from slavery, that is a deed blessed by the great Andraste herself, yes?"

Just then the two elves came up to the campfire. Zevran was saying, "After all this time, you still do not trust me?"

"One week!" Bannon interrupted. "It's been one week!"

"Six days, actually."

"Six and a half!" the Denerim elf conceded.

"Am I not part of your group? Have I not proven myself?" the assassin insisted, spreading his hands, his brows raised in disbelief at this unfair treatment. "After all this, do I not deserve the same status and consideration as anyone else here?" He looked around, beseeching the others to see his side. They looked skeptical. "Well, Sten there trusts me. Do you not, Sten?"

"No."

The assassin let his hands drop to slap against his legs in defeat. Bannon went around to the supplies and pulled out the spade. "Here," he said, handing it to the fuming Antivan. "Go do your job, Ser I-want-to-be-a-part-of-the-team."

"_My_ job!? How is this my job, yet again?" Zevran's voice spiraled up in outraged disbelief. "Surely it is someone else's turn!"

"It's your turn."

"How do you figure that?"

"Because I said so!"

Stubbornly, Zevran folded his arms, tucking the spade under one bicep. "And who put you in charge?"

"Alistair!" Bannon yelled, gesturing at the Templar.

The Antivan rolled his eyes over to the indicated Warden. He gave a sniff of disdain. "Well, who died and made _you_ King of Ferelden?"

Suddenly, almost all the noise in the camp stopped. Only the fire crackled quietly, and Wynne stopped shucking peas a moment later, looking up at everyone else. They stared at Zevran. Alistair's face slowly fell, like a great mountainside succumbing to an avalanche. Without a word, he tossed down the shank of mutton, stood, and walked off.

"What?" Zevran looked around, bewildered. "What did I say?" The only answer he got was a reproving look from Leliana. He shrugged back at her.

Bannon shook his head. "Just go dig the latrines!" He went off after Alistair.

"Fine, fine," the assassin grumbled. He walked off in the other direction.

Wynne looked at Leliana. "What was that all about?"

"That's another story, entirely." Leliana tipped her cutting board over the pot and carefully shoved the cut carrots into the stew. "So far," she said, returning to her original thread, "Zevran seems sincere in his pledge to aid us. He has given no indication he wishes to do otherwise."

"Just like the viper that wants to ride in your coat while it's cold out," Morrigan said. "Then bites you when you get it to where it needs to go." She shot a glance towards the object of conversation, then got to her feet with a huff of irritation. "Not there!" she yelled, striding towards the elf digging with the spade. "That's much too close to the camp."

The Antivan pitched a spadeful of dirt viciously at the ground. "You want me to go further away, witch?" he snapped. "See if I come back!" He turned and stalked off further.

Wynne winced. "Do I want to ask about that, or is this another story for later?"

"Morrigan styles herself a Witch of the Wilds, like her mother before her." Leliana began paring a large turnip with her knife, without the slightest bit of concern. Wynne, however, looked at her with alarm.

"I am an apostate, as you so quaintly call it," Morrigan said, returning to their company. She gave Wynne a scathing golden glare. "All you need concern yourself with, _Circle Mage_," - she sneered the title- "is that I, too, am here aiding the Grey Wardens. And believe me, they can't be picky about the company they keep."

Wynne turned yet again to look towards the departed Crow assassin. "I see what you mean," she said. Shaking her head, she scooped up the shelled peas and handed them into the stewpot. She moved around to Alistair's vacated spot and saw to rescuing the mutton from the dirt.

The former Templar came back into earshot, walking with Bannon. He seemed recovered from whatever had shocked him, though his demeanor was much subdued. "Well," he was telling the elf, "eat the rest of the candy. You _said_ you'd watch him."

Bannon groaned. "All right, but after some real dinner first." He sank down onto one of the stumps.

"Oh, here," Alistair said, hurrying to assist Wynne. "Let me get that. Sorry about that."

"It's all right," the mage said gently. They fussed a minute over the discarded meat. They got the salvageable bits into the stewpot along with the turnip slices from Leliana. The bard took up the long spoon and stirred.

As Wynne settled back into her spot, Bannon asked her, "How is everything? Settling in okay?"

"Oh yes," she said with a smile. "I feel like the little girl in the story, who's gone amongst mad people." Bannon and Leliana chuckled, and Alistair even cracked a grin. "Don't worry," she assured them; "I love that story."

"Do I want to ask where Zevran went?" the elf said.

Morrigan replied, "I told him to go dig the latrines further afield, and he threatened to run off."

"We should be so lucky," Bannon muttered.

"Are you seriously going to stay awake all night?" Wynne asked him.

He nodded. "It's an elf thing."

"And you won't be tired in the morning?" Alistair added.

"Nope."

"Man, I wish I could do that." He got a speculative look on his face. "Do you think if I ate half that candy, that I cou-"

"Not a chance!" Bannon's hands shot protectively to the pouch containing the precious candy.

"Well, I could _try_," the Templar grumbled underbreath.

"Get your own candy," the elf growled back.

===#===

The assassin did return. Alas. He whined so badly about being hungry, Bannon gave him half his stew. The Denerim elf finished his meal by munching on the rest of the candy, shooting the Antivan dirty looks all the while. Zevran, for his part, didn't seem to mind.

"Just leave the dishes and the pot," Bannon told the others. "We'll take care of cleaning up."

Alistair grinned. "Bonus!"

Zevran frowned at his patron. "What do you mean? We have to do work?"

"I don't want to be bored out of my skull all night," Bannon growled back at him. "We need _something_ to do."

The Antivan smiled dreamily. "I can think of a great many things to do with a handsome fellow such as yourself."

Bannon shared an uneasy glance with Alistair. Then he said firmly, "I like girls."

"I like girls, too," the irrepressible assassin retorted. "Do you see any volunteering to stay awake and entertain us?" He fanned his hand towards the women. Morrigan rolled her eyes. Leliana was used to the lewdness and didn't even bat an eyelash. Wynne had that look again, like she had landed amongst mad people. Zevran grinned wickedly at her, mainly because the other two were learning to ignore him.

Bannon put a hand to his face, slowly drawing his fingers down. "This is going to be a long night..."

Chores didn't really last that long. They washed the dishes and the stewpot. They swept and raked around the camp. Soon the others settled into their tents for the night, save for Sten, who eschewed a tent for sleeping under a tree. The two elves went for a patrol around the camp perimeter. Now that they were finally alone, and before the talkative Antivan could dominate the conversation, Bannon said, "Hey, I wanted to ask you something about that dream."

"Ah, of course," Zevran said, his expression souring. "I was wondering when this would come up."

So he'd been thinking about it. And, Bannon mused, he remembered the Fade dream well enough, though the others- and even Bannon himself- claimed it was all hazy and mostly-forgotten. Bannon opened his mouth to reassure the assassin, but closed it quickly as Zevran continued without prompting.

"What you saw, yes, was more or less what it was really like in the Crows." Bannon held his breath. He never expected Zevran to just tell him the truth. Looking at the ground before their feet, Zevran continued. "When they raised me to the status of apprentice, I had to pass a test. A test of endurance, if you will." He casually flipped one hand up and spoke as if explaining nothing more than the proper way to tend a garden. "The Crow apprentices are broken. Twice, actually. The first time is to make sure you are tough enough to become a full Crow. They see how much it takes to break you. The weak, they die in those dungeons." His voice carried the venom of scorn in it. "As for me, I endured several days." Now his voice rose with the usual self-aggrandizement. "I don't recall exactly how long- it was of course difficult to keep track, especially when unconscious- but it is the longest that any apprentice survived without breaking."

Bannon saw a particular flaw in the concept of this 'test.' Wouldn't the weak ones break sooner, and thus survive? It would be the strongest that held out until they died. He dared not voice this to the assassin. "The second time?" he murmured, his curiosity getting the better of him. He didn't expect Zevran to answer this either, so he got another shock.

"Oh, the second time, the Crow Master breaks you to his will, so that you become completely and utterly obedient to him," Zevran said offhandedly.

Bannon didn't know what to say to that. Zevran sounded like he just didn't care, as if it were nothing. Bannon only felt anger. If some stinking shem 'Master' ever tortured him, he'd... well, he'd never be a loyal and obedient slave, that's for sure. Or maybe... maybe he wouldn't have a choice in the matter. Tortured until he pledged his loyalty and obedience? Broken until he meant it? And Zevran had survived that.

"Did that answer your question?" the Antivan asked lightly.

Bannon took a breath and imitated his blase' attitude. "Actually, I was going to ask you about those two elves. There are Dalish in the Crows?"

Zevran laughed. "No, no, my friend. Some of the elves get tattoos on their faces. They wish to look scarier to the shems."

"That's illegal in Ferelden."

"It's illegal in Antiva, too, but," he grinned with a wide, open-handed shrug; "we are assassins. What do we care for laws, eh? Now my tattoo, that is different. Not something to mark up and hide my most handsome face, but something with a rakish air, something alluring, a subtle accent."

"Really?" said Bannon. "I thought your Crow buddies got you drunk one night and took you to get it while you were passed out. But then, halfway through, you woke up and ran away screaming."

"What?" Zevran glared at him, taking affront at his smirk. "Why you!" He aimed a punch at Bannon's head, but the thief ducked and danced back. "I'll have you know," the assassin told him, "that there are many lurid and exciting tales of how I got this tattoo, and that is not one of them!"

"Probably because it's the only true one," Bannon quipped back. He fled.

Zevran growled and ran after him with murder in his eyes. Bannon stopped and turned suddenly, a finger to his lips. "Shh!" He tilted his head towards the sleeping giant, only a few feet away.

Zevran mouthed imprecations as they tiptoed past. Then he whispered, "I will get you back for that."

"Not tonight," the thief whispered back.

"Not on this side of the camp," the assassin clarified. "If there is to be no fighting, and no sex, then what, precisely do you propose we do? The night is still young."

"Oh, we'll think of something."

===#===

_First Hour:_

"Are you alive or dead?" asked Zevran.

"Dead."

"Are you sexy?"

Bannon frowned. "I don't know!"

"How can you not know!? If you don't know, you can't pick that person!"

"Oh, fine! Considering it's you who's asking... yes!"

"Are you Andraste?" Zevran's face lit up in triumph. "Hah! You are Andraste!"

"No I'm not!

"People are always Andraste. Wait... do I know you?"

"No."

"Then how am I supposed to guess!?"

===#===

_Second Hour:_

They crept over to Bodhan's wagon. Bannon crouched low and popped the lock on a chest on the ground by the wheel. Zevran hovered close by, watching his technique. "Don't you have a key for that?"

"What for? It'll only get lost."

"Oh."

Bannon opened the chest and set about sorting the accumulated stuff inside. Zevran's ears perked up as he heard a familiar thick clink of glass. "You have liquor stashed in here?"

"Yeah- oh no! That's for emergency purposes!"

Zevran snorted. "You and your 'emergency purposes.' This is an emergency, is it not?"

"I don't see how-"

"Look," the assassin explained reasonably, "if we get drunk and pass out, then we will be asleep, no? Our problem will be solved!"

Bannon frowned in thought a minute. "That... actually makes sense," he said hesitantly. "Why do I think it's a bad idea?" This last bit was wasted, because Zevran had already nabbed a bottle out of the stash and run off with it.

===#===

_Third Hour:_

The sounds of elven two-part harmony drifted through the night:

Through the forest wild and free

Comes our Dalish melody!

Ever dancing as they say

None so merry and none so gay...!

===#===

_Fourth Hour:_

The full, epic length rendition of all twelve verses of the dirty limerick "There Once Was a Man from Orlais."

===#===

_Fifth Hour and Beyond:_

Things after that got a little fuzzy. However, much to the relief of the rest of the companions, they were at least quiet.

===#===

Morning light was done filtering through the trees; it had its heart set on piercing the tent walls with light. Alistair groaned and finally had to surrender. It was time to get up. Groggily, he climbed out of his tent and looked around. He half expected the camp to look as if a tornado had blasted through, but it actually looked neater than any camp had a right to look. He spotted Bannon and Zevran sitting near the banked fire, hunched intently over a hand of cards. Cautiously, he moved away from his tent. His foot clanked against - he looked down - his helm? Wait, why were pieces of his armor lying near the fire?

"Hey, why is my armor out here?" He picked up the helm and turned it over in his hands. "Gah! And why is there a hideous clown face painted on my helmet?"

"That was for the puppet show," Bannon answered mildly. "Do you have any threes?"

"Go fish," the assassin told him.

Alistair muttered and rubbed the helm with one corner of his shirt. "Puppet show," he muttered. At least the makeup came off easily.

"Do you have any threes?" Zevran asked Bannon.

"No. Go fish."

With a muttered Antivan curse, Zevran drew a card from the pile between them.

Alistair glanced over towards the path that returned to the main road. Sten, as usual, was patrolling there impatiently. Looking in the other direction, Alistair saw Leliana in front of her tent, getting ready to make breakfast. Behind her, on the tent, was a large cartoon drawing of her. It was actually quite good. Then Leliana bent to pick up something, and more of the drawing was revealed- the absolutely nude drawing. "Gah!" Alistair gaped like a stunned fish.

With a quizzical wrinkle in her brow, Leliana stood and turned to see what he was staring at. "Oh my!" She tilted her head, appraising it for a minute or two. "That's very artistic," she said generously. She turned back around to the two elves. "Which one of you drew that?"

"I did," said Bannon with a proud smile. The effect was somewhat marred by the fact he had on pink lipstick and green eyeshadow. Not to mention the word 'LOSER' written across his forehead. "Do you have any threes?"

"Go fish." Zevran, for his part, had on red lipstick, blush, and gold eye shadow. Across his forehead was the word 'AWEZOME.' "I did the one of you, Alistair."

Alistair opened his mouth to say something, but then realized what the Antivan had just said. He turned around. "Oh! Um..." He gulped at the stick figure. It could have been worse. "That's... not bad. But if I'm brandishing my sword over my head, how do I have a red sword in my other hand?"

"That's not your sword. Do you have any threes?"

"Mn mm. Go fish."

Alistair's brow twisted up into a full question mark shape. He tipped his head sideways, peering intently at the stick figure. "Not my...? OH!" His eyes popped open wide. It was worse! "Striking tent! Right now!" He ran forward, discarding his armor, and started yanking at the tent pegs and guy lines, trying to collapse his tent and the 'glorified' Templar drawing on it, even though all his stuff was still inside.

Leliana approached the elves. "Where did you get tha- my makeup kit!" She quickly knelt before the pilfered makeup to make sure it was all there.

Wynne walked over from her tent. "What on Thedas is painted on my tent?" she demanded.

Zevran said, "It is a picture of you smacking a hurlock over the head with your cane. Er- staff! I meant staff!"

The older woman scowled at him. "Why were you painting graffiti on people's tents?"

Bannon answered that one. "Well, we put everyone's name on their tent, but you couldn't really read it from that far away, so..." His explanation sort of petered out under her withering glare. "It seemed like a good idea at the time?"

Leliana looked over at the elves' tents. There were drawings on the front, but these were scribbled over viciously. They seemed to be elven stick figures, and the brown-haired one's comparative anatomy was conspicuously smaller than the blond-haired one's. The rest of the canvas of both tents were covered with a variety of blond and brunette elf stick figures killing each other in imaginative and gory ways.

Wynne came to a stop beside her, viewing the carnage. She gave an annoyed huff. Then she rounded on the elves. "Where did you get these paints?"

"Oh, we improvised," Bannon said. "We, um, were sorting our supplies."

"They're not permanent, are they?" Alistair asked, returning from his mission to dismantle the artwork on his tent.

"No," Zevran said. "At least, not most of them."

"That's good, at least." Alistair hoped. "Zevran, why do you have the word 'AWESOME' written across your face, with a backwards S?"

"Because I am ridiculously awesome!" he beamed proudly.

Bannon snorted. Leliana said to him, "Do you know you have the world 'LOSER' written across your forehead?"

"What? Oh!" The elf rubbed at his forehead.

Leliana shook her head. "No, it's still there."

"Wh-!?" He glared at the Antivan. "You used the stuff that stains on my face!?" He threw down his cards without waiting for an answer, and sprang on the other elf. The two went down in a heap, thrashing in the dirt. Leliana and Wynne had to jump back to avoid being bowled over.

"Alistair!" Leliana cried after a moment, when the Templar didn't immediately wade in to separate the two.

"What? I think they need a good thrashing, this time."

The Chantry Sister glared at him, so with a put-upon sigh, Alistair went to haul Bannon off the assassin. He didn't get that far, however, before a voice rolled like thunder over the whole camp: "Just _Who_ Painted A Pornographic Picture On My Tent!?" Everyone froze as Morrigan stalked over. The two elves scrambled to their feet. Bannon pointed at Zevran.

"It's not pornographic," the Antivan began. "It is an artistic rendering-"

"It's a picture of TWO GIANT BOOBS!" the witch roared.

Wynne rounded on them. "That's it! No more candy for you two!"

Bannon gaped at her. "But Wyyyyyynnnne! He started it!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Enough!" Wynne yelled. "Now go wash that stuff off Morrigan's tent this instant. Both of you! And then clean up Alistair's armor and give Leliana her makeup kit back!"

"But he did it," Bannon insisted.

"_And_ you can both dig new latrines!" Wynne was in fine form now. Alistair gave her a look that was half admiring and half fearful.

"We did that already," Zevran said.

"Yeah, we were kinda bored," Bannon added.

Wynne pressed a hand to her forehead. "Maker's Mercy, I'm too old for this!"

===_X_===


	2. On the North Road

**On the North Road**

_CONTENT:_

Rating: Teen

Flavor: Humor/Adventure

Language: some

Violence: a little

Nudity: no

Sex: no

Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Little bits of business as the gang goes to Denerim. (and apparently lots of them!) Absolutely nothing important happens during this chapter. You can skip it if you don't like reading. ...Which... if you got this far, would be strange, but whatever!

* * *

**On the North Road**

===#===

**Party Banter: Rotten Apple**

Alistair: This apple is rotten.

Bannon: It is not.

Alistair: It is! Look, it's got brown spots on it.

Bannon: No, rotten is when it's all black and mushy. Those are just a couple of bruises. They're not going to kill you.

Alistair: What, you just eat them? What happens if you eat them?

Bannon: You'll get a little sour taste in the back of your throat. Seriously, Alistair, you shems are going to throw away a perfectly good apple just because it has a few bruises?

Alistair: Well...

Bannon: Just eat it.

===#===

"Alistair, where are we again?" Bannon unfolded the map just after lunch. He held it up in front of the Templar knight.

"We're on the North Road. We keep going until we get to Denerim," Alistair said wearily. "It's not that difficult."

"Yes, but, there might be a town nearby? Along the way?" The elf flapped the map at him insistently. "Maybe there's an inn where we could stay the night."

"Can we afford that?"

"It might actually be cheaper than renting tents from Bodahn," Bannon mused. "Maybe some bandits will attack us, and we'll get some more money." One could always hope for a bandit attack.

Alistair took the map and frowned at it. "Well...," he said finally, "I don't know. They don't have any inns marked on here. Just the cities and the bigger towns."

Zevran appeared on the Templar's other side. "We shall never know until we get there. Let us go!" He gave the man a firm slap to the backside.

"Hey!" Alistair yelped and jumped as if he'd been bitten. "What?! Did you-?" He turned away from the smirking elf to his fellow Grey Warden. "Did he-?"

"What, Alistair?" Bannon took the map back and began folding it. He didn't seem to have noticed anything.

"Yes, Alistair," Zevran piped up. "Do tell!"

"Did you just touch my butt?" the former Templar spit out, his face going crimson.

"Did I?" The Antivan feigned shock. "I'm surprised you can tell, with that armor on."

Alistair's face looked like a disgruntled tomato. He looked back, where Morrigan and Leliana were snickering. Wynne frowned and opened her mouth to say something, but Alistair slapped his helmet onto his head and turned away.

Bannon looked at the old mage and put a finger to his lips. Zevran yanked his arm and dragged him off behind the qunari and Templar.

===#===

No bandits sprang froth along the road. Alas. But they did spy a small, ramshackle inn in the early evening.

"See if you can get us some rooms," Bannon told Alistair.

"Me?" The penny-pinching elf usually handled that.

Bannon tugged at his short hair, trying to yank his forelock down and forward. "Well, I can't! I still have the world 'LOSER' visible across my forehead." He shot the snickering Antivan an evil glare.

"Put your helmet on," Alistair told him.

"Oh, that's an improvement," Zevran said sarcastically.

"Shut up." Bannon unhooked the ugly thing from his belt and put it on his head. He tugged it down low so the brim shadowed his forehead.

===#===

Inside, Bannon and Zevran lurked by the fireplace, pretending not to know Alistair, who went to the bar with Sten.

"Honestly," Wynne said nearby. "How long are you going to let that poor boy carry on?"

Leliana said, "Morrigan and I have a bet to see when he notices. Excuse me." She went to help Alistair procure food and lodging.

"So can anyone get in on this bet?" Bannon asked Morrigan. "What's your money on?"

"That he doesn't notice until up in the room." She shot a glance at the older mage. "The bet will be called off should anyone actually tell him."

"Oh, you're all children," Wynne griped. She went to find an empty table.

Bannon looked over the patrons of the tavern. A few were looking towards the bar with puzzled expressions that graduated into snickers and low comments to their companions. Someone was bound to make a comment or start laughing. "I'll take that bet. Ten silver says he'll figure it out before then."

"That's hardly worth much when you hold all our money."

"What are you and Leliana betting?"

"Who has to cook dinner and breakfast for a week."

"I'll toss in Zevran digging latrines for a week," Bannon offered.

"Hey," the Antivan complained. When Bannon looked over, Zevran flipped an obscene gesture.

"You can take a turn for a week as well," Morrigan said.

"If you're that sure."

"I am."

"All right; you're on."

===#===

"How much are your rooms?" Leliana asked the bored-looking innkeeper.

"Don't have rooms. We got a loft. Three coppers a cot." He rolled his eyes speculatively at Sten. "Ain't got any that big."

"I will sleep outside."

"We will take cots for six and meals for...," Leliana did a quick calculation in her head, "nine." She smiled winsomely at the man, but he wouldn't budge on the price he named.

A couple of local farmers filed out, laughing, and Leliana turned from her negotiations to smile at their humor. Alistair turned to look, too. They laughed again, but said nothing.

"What's so funny?" Alistair wondered.

"They probably heard a good joke. Let us eat, yes?"

===#===

Alistair followed Leliana to the table. The others had dumped their packs in the corner, so he unslung his shield and pack and tossed them down without looking. "Boy, I'm starved," he said as he claimed a seat on the bench.

He noticed the two elves sniggering. He glanced at Morrigan and wasn't surprised to see a smirk on her face. When Leliana took the last seat, he noticed her dimpling with a suppressed smile. "What's so funny?" he asked again.

Zevran started laughing harder. Bannon said, "Nothing." He shot a glance at Morrigan. "Ignore him," he said, elbowing Zevran in the ribs. "He's an idiot."

"You just figure that out?" Alistair replied. He moved aside to let the server bring in the platter of food. "So what's the joke, then?"

"Nothing," Bannon insisted, grabbing a plate.

Sten came over, and the elves grumbled as he made them move down the bench.

"Come on," Alistair insisted as he attacked a slab of meat. "Tell me this joke, Zevran."

"Ah..." The assassin winced as Bannon clearly kicked him under the table. "I'm afraid it was quite lewd. Do you still wish to hear it?"

"Yeah," he said on a hunch.

"Umm..."

"Well the rest of us do not," Morrigan said snippily. The elf shrugged apologetically, then busied himself stuffing food into his face.

Alistair shook his head and attended to his own meal. They ate in companionable silence, except Bannon and Zevran, who started whispering and giggling back and forth.

"Will you two behave!" Wynne snapped at them.

"And what's so funny?" Alistair demanded.

"Nothing," Bannon said again. "Just... elven humor." This prompted another snort from his cohort. Bannon smacked him on the arm.

"I said behave," Wynne insisted, before they ended up wrestling on the floor.

"Wynne, do you know what's going on?"

"Me?" The older mage glanced around. She frowned, her mouth pinched in a tight line.

Alistair looked over and saw Morrigan glowering back at Wynne. "You," he said, leveling a finger at the witch. "Did you do something to me?"

"What?"

"Did you cast a spell on me?" He ran his hand back over his hair. "Turned my hair pink or something? Made a tail grow? Feathers sprout out my ears?"

"Of course not. I resent such an accusation."

"Oh, you do, I'm sure. Only everyone here seems to think something is funny, except me. And they keep looking at you. I know they're not laughing at you, because no one's hair is on fire." She blinked at him in surprise. "I'm not stupid," he growled.

"I have done nothing to you, Alistair."

He didn't believe her. "Sten, do you see something funny about me?"

The qunari paused in his methodical eating to look at Alistair. "No."

The elves, Leliana, and Morrigan laughed. Alistair sighed.

"I do not see what is so humorous," Sten said.

"Sten," Alistair told him, "you always say 'No.'" The qunari grumbled and went back to eating. Alistair looked at Bannon. "You."

"What?"

"You're my fellow Grey Warden. You'd tell me if someone were playing a practical joke on me, right?"

"Absolutely!"

"Well..." He looked between all his companions. If Wynne, Sten, and Bannon didn't notice anything odd... "All right, then." He finished his meal, and snagged extra helpings. _Come on,_ he told himself. _We're not a bunch of village kids._

He'd just about convinced himself of that when he got up to gather his things. He felt everyone watching him, so he turned back warily as he grabbed his pack and shield.

Zevran started laughing again. Bannon punched him in the head, but he was trying not to laugh as well. Morrigan looked triumphant. Alistair slung the pack up onto his shoulder. "All right, what's going- What in the-!?" As he went to pull his shield up, he saw a flash of purple. The front of it was covered with that horrid Paisley Monstrosity! "Gah!"

Everyone at the table started laughing. Well, except for Sten. Sten looked up and quirked a brow. Well, for him, that was practically doubling over and slapping his knee.

"How long has this been here?" Alistair demanded as he tugged at the knots in the sleeves. They couldn't answer for laughing, and he noticed the other people in the tavern laughing, too. "Morrigan!"

"I had nothing to do with it."

He turned his glare on the elves. "Bannon! I thought you were my friend!"

The dark-haired elf pointed emphatically at Zevran, who slapped at his hand in return. "Come on, Alistair. It was just a joke."

"Was this here all day?" Maker, how many people had seen him parading around as the Paisley Knight? "What if we'd been attacked by bandits or something?" His face grew even hotter, just imagining going into battle like that.

Zevran piped up, "You would have stopped their charge dead! They would be helpless on the ground while we dispatched them."

"You don't look any worse than I do," Bannon insisted. He gestured to his ill-fitting armor. "I look like some kind of patchwork scarecrow. Oh, and let's not forget that some idiot wrote on my head with boot polish!" He rubbed at the stain on his forehead. The Antivan howled in laughter, and Bannon shoved him hard enough to dump him off the bench. "You shut up, or you're going to wake up one morning to find your braids decorating my helmet."

"You propose to sneak up on an Antivan Crow while they are sleeping?" Zevran bounced to his feet. "Very dangerous. You stand to lose life and limb."

Bannon ignored his boasting and finished talking to Alistair. "And my hair looks like a cow ate it."

Alistair had no interest in the elves' byplay. He turned to Wynne. "Seriously, Wynne? I'd expect this sort of thing from the brat brigade, but you?"

She had the grace to look embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Alistair."

"No one could say anything," Bannon put in. "Or the bet would be off."

Alistair yanked the Paisley Monstrosity free from the shield. "Bet? What, you bet on how stupid Alistair would look?"

"Look at the bright side- Morrigan has to cook breakfast and dinner for two weeks!"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, grand, that. You know what she's like. Bugs and slime for breakfast." They started to protest, but he cut them off by flinging the stupid shirt onto the table. "I'm going to retire to my cot, get some mending done. Good night!" He delivered the last viciously, then stomped towards the stairs.

===#===

"Well, I hope you're all happy," Wynne told the group.

"He'll get over it," Bannon said without concern. He got up and said to Zevran. "Let's go outside."

"Oh? What for?"

"You said you wanted to spar."

Zevran's eyes lit up. "_Excellente'!_"

The others dispersed to relax and have some time to themselves.

===#===

**Gifts**

The next night, it was camp again. Bannon brought the book to Morrigan after dinner. "Hey, I thought you might find this interesting."

Her brows peaked into surprised arches. "Where did you find _this?_" She took the black book eagerly. "This... this looks like Mother's grimoire." She tore her eyes from it and leveled her golden gaze at him.

"Oh, well, I saw it in Irving's room." He shrugged. "I said it looked interesting; he said I could keep it."

She snorted, then her eyes were drawn back to the book. She ran a palm over the cover. "This can't possibly be... but it looks just like the one I remember..." She trailed off. Just before he could take his leave, however, her attention snapped back to him. "This could be quite important. I do thank you."

"You're welcome," he said with a charming smile. "Oh, and dinner was great."

===#===

Bannon returned to the main camp and went over by Alistair's tent. Although everyone had complained about the paintings on the tents, the fact is it _was_ a lot easier to tell which belonged to whom. Even after most of the ingredients had rubbed off, the red 'sword' on Alistair's tent lingered.

Alistair himself was still surly after the Paisley Monstrosity attack. He returned Bannon's cheerful greeting with a monosyllabic grunt. The elf didn't bother with any preamble. "Here, I thought you might like this." He gave Alistair the little wood carving he'd been whittling.

"Thanks," Alistair said. He took it and looked it over. "It's a mabari," he added with a bit of surprise. It wasn't Bannon's favorite subject, but the shape of the wooden knot had dictated the course of the carving knife. A slight grin tugged at Alistair's lips. "It's not like the usual stiff, decorative, mean-looking Fereldan mabari statues. Look at his goofy smile, and his little pot belly!" His expression matched the dog's more and more. "And he's got a bone to chew on. He's so happy." The former kennel-boy's eyes went a little misty. He turned the carving over again, then looked at Bannon. "This is so unique... I love it! Just... wow! You really are talented. Thanks!"

The elf chuckled at his exuberance. "You're welcome."

"I'm still going to get back at you for that Paisley Knight incident, though," Alistair growled in mock severity.

"Hey, that's what friends are for."

"To play pranks on each other?" Alistair asked in disbelief.

"Who else are we going to play pranks on?" Bannon retorted. Then he had an idea. "Maybe, when we get to Denerim, we can play that prank on Loghain."

Alistair laughed.

===#===

**The Impersonator**

"Well, your hair still looks ridiculous," Alistair griped when he couldn't win an argument any other way.

"It looks exactly like your hair!" Bannon pointed out.

"No it doesn't."

Bannon licked the palms of his hands and pushed his bangs back until they stood up in a cowlick. "Look familiar?"

"No," the former Templar insisted.

Bannon grabbed Alistair's shield. He stood with it before him, his chest puffed up and his shoulders thrust back. "Fear me, darkspawn," he said in a reasonable imitation of Alistair's voice. "The Paisley Knight will show no mercy!"

Leliana turned, her eyes and mouth open in amazement. "That's brilliant! I didn't know you could do impersonations."

Morrigan looked up from stirring the pot. "'Tis most accurate. The word 'LOSER' across your forehead only makes it a more convincing rendition of Alistair."

"Ha, ha," the Templar griped.

"Is it still there?" Bannon rubbed at his forehead.

"You're going to rub your skin raw," Wynne warned him.

"Don't you have a cleaning spell?"

"You'll just have to wait a few days until it fades. Consider it your punishment for your shenanigans the other night."

"But Wynne! Zevran's washed off. And he started it."

"I don't care who started it."

"It was his fault!" Bannon threw his arms up, since Wynne wasn't interested in the truth. "I should just kill that assassin; where'd he go?"

"Right behind you, _mi patrone_." Bannon whirled to see Zevran twirling a throwing knife idly in one hand. "Daggers at the ready."

Bannon spat on his hands again and slicked his hair back as far down to his scalp as it would go. He put his head back and thrust his jaw out into a huge underbite. He half-closed his eyes and said in an Antivan accent, "Your daggers would melt in the very presence of my sexy self."

The others snorted and sniggered, but Zevran narrowed his eyes. "You-"

"I am the greatest assassin in all Antiva City, overlooking Antiva Bay on the Antiva River," Bannon continued, broadening the accent.

"How dare you mock my beloved Antiva City!"

"Oh? I thought I was mocking your beloved _country_ of Antiva." Bannon could barely keep up the accent all the way to the end of that sentence.

The others laughed while the assassin fumed and muttered Antivan curses.

Bannon shook his short hair out, cocked on hip, pinched his lips into an unfriendly line and looked down his nose. "'Twould be most unfortunate should you 'accidentally' fall into the soup," he said archly in a higher-pitched tone.

Alistair and Leliana snickered. Morrigan glared. "You tread a dange-"

"-a dangerous path, _elf_," Bannon finished in the same frosty tone. He alternately squinted and goggled each eye in a fearsome glare. Alistair was nearly falling over. Wynne was shaking her head while trying not to laugh, and Leliana put a hand over her mouth.

"Keep it up," Morrigan suggested threateningly.

Bannon grabbed his hair and tried to pull the short cowlick down on either side of his face. In winsome Orlesian falsetto, he said, "Keep it up, and I will have to perform last rites on your charred remains, yes?"

Leliana said, "I have to say, you are really very good at this. Have you ever considered the theater? In Orlais, you could become quite the famous actor."

"I agree," Zevran added. "I did not know you were so talented."

Bannon laughed off their praise. "All right, see if you can figure out who this is..." He puffed himself up again, folded his arms and scowled.

"Sten," everyone chorused before he'd even finished.

"What?" said the qunari, coming over. He just shook his head as everyone laughed.

===#===

**Lessons**

"So I was thinking," Zevran said to Bannon the next day. "That talent you have, imitating voices. That would come in handy on some assassinations. How long does it take you to learn to do a voice?"

Bannon shrugged. "I dunno. I've always been good at making fun of people."

"Hrm. But if you were spying on a guard, and he said a password to the gate guard, could you eliminate him and fool the other guards into thinking you were he? In the dark?"

"I dunno."

"Pfft. Some assassin you would be," Zevran griped. "Can you teach me how to do it?"

"I dunno. You just have to listen. Have an ear for it, I guess? Then make your voice sound like theirs."

Zevran rolled his eyes. "As a teacher, you lack... teaching skills."

"Well, try to imitate my voice."

"Um..." The Antivan frowned.

"All right, maybe they're a little too close, your voice and mine," Bannon said. "Try to do Leliana in a high voice with an Orlesian accent."

"Um... 'Ze May-keer's Blesseeng be upon yew,'" he squeaked.

"Yeah, you know, maybe the silent assassin thing is more your style."

"Bah."

===#===

Bannon's hair grew out quickly, but not quickly enough. Especially when it as too long to stand up, but not long enough to hang properly. It kept brushing his ear tips, which drove him mad. The only thing that helped was wearing the stupid helmet. It at least kept his hair squashed into place.

"Are you wearing that thing in the hopes I will strike you in the head and completely destroy it?" Zevran asked on their way to do a little sparring.

"Ha-ha," Bannon said dryly. "It's going to look a whole lot better when I tie your braids on it."

"Did I not warn you what a dangerous endeavor that would be, _amico?_ I would not wish to cause severe bodily injury to my _patrone_."

"Yeah, you and what daggers?" Bannon goaded him.

The assassin scowled and reached for his belt knife. The look on his face when he grabbed only air almost made Bannon choke. Then he looked even more lost and confused as he started patting himself down for his other daggers. Bannon lost it and collapsed against a tree, howling with laughter.

"You!" The Antivan was almost incomprehensible in his ire. "What have you done with my daggers! _When_ did you-? You stole them! Give them back this instant!"

"Try to get them," Bannon taunted. That was a mistake, because he was still weak from laughing, and the assassin sprang on him. "WAUGH!"

They bounced off the tree and rolled in the grass, cursing, yelling, and yes, Bannon was still trying not to laugh.

===#===

The other companions sat around the fire, doing little cleaning and mending chores while Morrigan cooked. A cacophony of yelling and thrashing about in the undergrowth reached their ears. Wynne looked up in mild curiosity, at least, but the rest didn't bat an eyelash. The elves had gone off to spar, after all.

Wynne looked back at the others. "They could end up in trouble one day," she pointed out. "Someone could attack them."

"These mythical bandits we've been waiting for?" Alistair asked dryly.

Wynne sighed. She winced at a particularly loud crack and an 'OW!' "You know, I've been curious to ask you all how it is you came to be on this mission. And... how you came to be actually following that young man." She wasn't exactly sure about that last part. Especially when yells of 'Aha, I have a braid!' and 'You hair-pulling girl!' echoed through the camp.

"That last bit is Alistair's fault," Morrigan was quick to point out.

"It's not my fault!"

"'Twas you who insisted he take command."

"Look, he's really very smart." Alistair winced as the thrashing and yelling turned into running around the camp and yelling. "Most of the time."

Morrigan just rolled her eyes.

Leliana returned to Wynne's original question. "While I was meditating in the Chantry, the Maker sent me a vision. In it, He warned me of the coming Blight and told me to aid the Grey Wardens." She smiled softly. "So here I am."

"The Maker told you?" Wynne asked.

A little frown line marred the bard's smile. "It wasn't like that."

"But I mean... the Chant teaches us that the Maker turned away from His creation."

"And the Chantry teaches us that only through their intervention can we beseech the Maker to return. But I do not believe this to be true," Leliana said. "I believe the Maker cares for all His children, and we can reach out to Him ourselves."

"And... He can reach us," Wynne mused.

"Exactly."

"Well, you know how I ended up here," Alistair said. "Sorta got drafted into it."

The old mage looked at Morrigan. "And you? You don't seem quite willing to be here at all."

"My reasons are my own. -What was that?" This last, she snapped at Alistair, who had muttered something.

"Nothing," he drawled innocently. "How's that soup coming?"

"Not enough toad," the witch growled threateningly.

Wynne didn't want to step into that battlefield. "Sten, do you want to tell me how you came to be following the Grey Wardens?"

"No."

She sighed. She'd only been with them a few days and already that joke was getting old.

"You know," Alistair said, "we're going to have to stop asking him yes-or-no questions."

===#===

"Dammit," Bannon hissed, lifting his left arm. When the assassin had wrested one of his knives away, the blade had put a good slice along the underside of his bicep.

"You're only lucky it wasn't poisoned," Zevran grumbled as he wrapped a makeshift bandage around Bannon's arm. "So quit stealing my blades! We could have been attacked today; I might have needed them."

"Oh, I would have made good use of them." Bannon smirked and made the assassin snarl. "I'm beginning to think there aren't any b-" He broke off suddenly and looked through the trees.

Zevran picked up his tension immediately and followed his gaze. And lost his belt knife again.

Zevran snapped his head back around before Bannon got the knife out of sight. "What are you doing? Give me my knife!"

"This is my knife," the thief said, dropping his half-bandaged arm to conceal the hilt still in his belt sheath.

Momentarily confused, Zevran looked at the knife, then his sheath, then grabbed Bannon's arm to move it out of the way. "Give me that!" The assassin snatched his knife back.

"Careful," Bannon said, letting him have it without resistance. "Don't cut yourself."

"I have been handling knives since I was seven," Zevran snapped. He finished tying the bandage with a vengeful yank on the knot. He sat on his heels a minute, watching Bannon. The other elf held his arm, trying to get it to stop bleeding. "So can you teach me some of these valuable thief skills?"

"Hey." Bannon frowned at him. "What did I tell you? I'm a carpenter."

"_Si_, and I'm a tailor." Zevran rolled his eyes. "Can't you teach me some of your useful 'carpentry' skills?"

"Not if you can't keep a secret."

"Oh, fine, fine. I promise, O Master Carpenter."

"All right, give me your coin pouch."

"Is this how you rob people?"

"No, you idiot; to do that, you have to threaten them." Bannon held out his hand, impatiently gesturing for the assassin to hand over the goods. Zevran untied his pouch from his belt and slapped it into the waiting palm. "This is just how I get money from really stupid people," Bannon said as he emptied the few coins into his hand.

"Hey!" Zevran made a grab for them as they disappeared into the thi- carpenter's own belt pouch. "That is my money!"

"Did you forget? I hold all the money."

"No, you gave me that to spend!"

"Now you can use it to pay your dues."

"_Dues!?_"

"You want to learn this or not?" Bannon growled, fending him off with one elbow.

"This had better be good," Zevran fumed. He sat back on his heels again.

Bannon scrabbled around on the ground and rolled up a hank of long grass and some leaves from a bush. He stuffed it all into the pouch, then hefted it experimentally. He frowned slightly and then cast around to find a few pebbles to add.

"Here," he said, gesturing for the assassin to get up. He tossed the stuffed pouch up and caught it back in the palm of his hand. "Do that." He lobbed the pouch at the assassin, who caught it.

"What, this?" Zevran tossed the pouch lightly into the air.

It had barely reached the top of its flight when Bannon's hand shot out like a streak and grabbed it. Zevran blinked. "All right, you see that?" the Denerim elf asked him. "Now you try."

He tossed the pouch and Zevran lunged for it. He hit it, but his fingers didn't close on it fast enough, so he only knocked it away. "_Brasca!_"

Bannon made him go get it, which prompted more Antivan grumbling. When Zevran returned, he held onto the pouch and stared at Bannon. The thief looked bored and yawned. Zevran tossed the bag and _whoosh!_ It disappeared in another blur.

"I have heard of fast hands," Zevran said. "But damn."

"Keep practicing," Bannon told him. They played snatch-the-purse until it was time to eat.

===#===

Wynne went with Bannon to wash up her bowl after dinner. She'd wanted to talk to the elf and try to understand him better. And his... followers? So far, except for Alistair and Leliana (and Leliana's story about Zevran), she knew nothing about them.

"Bannon, can I ask you a question?"

The elf smiled pleasantly. "Sure, Wynne. Oh, here, let me do that for you." He made to take her dinner utensils, but she forestalled him.

"It's no trouble. I can pull my own weight around the camp."

"Oh, in that case, you want to do mine?" He held out his bowl with a cheeky grin. She just gave him a look. He laughed. "All right; it was worth a shot." He hunkered down and fished the scrub brush out of the bucket and set to work.

Wynne frowned at his bandaged arm. "Do you need healing?"

"What? Oh, that? Nah."

"Really, it isn't any trouble."

"It's just a little cut. It'll heal by morning."

"In my experience, 'little cuts' don't need bandaging."

"It's a Grey Warden thing. According to Alistair, we just need a lot of food." He shrugged. "I've had worse wounds than this that have been fine after a few hours."

Wynne had never known that about Grey Wardens. She had heard, though, that they were extraordinarily resilient.

"You might ask Zevran, though," Bannon said, rinsing out his bowl. "He's got a pretty big black eye."

Wynne huffed in disapproval as she took he turn at he washing bucket. "The way you two keep tussling, you deserve a few black eyes and split lips."

"Well, horsing around with Zevran is how I got cut."

Wynne grumbled to herself. Boys! And yet here he was, leading a ragtag band in a quest to save Ferelden. This worried her to no end. "What I wanted to ask you, Bannon, is how you came to be the leader of this... group."

"Oh." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged and said, "Nobody else seems to want the job." She stared up at him, agape. He chuckled. "Why, do you want the job?"

"No! But-"

"See?"

"But, for example, why does Sten follow you?"

"Oh, well, he was locked in a cage and left to be eaten by darkspawn, so when I got he Revered Mother to let him go with us, well... he's in my custody, and he has to do what I say."

"Why was he in a cage?" The qunari looked somewhat beast-like, but they were people the same as any other.

"Oh, he murdered some farmers."

"You brought a murderer along?" she gasped.

Bannon winced slightly. "But look at him, Wynne. He's huge! Instead of feeding the darkspawn, isn't it better if he kills them?"

She paused to think it over, scrubbing her bowl and spoon.

"He truly is repentant," the elf said quietly. "He's come with us to fight and kill darkspawn until he dies."

She glanced up at him. He wasn't looking at her, but staring off through the trees. _There's more to this young man than meets the eye,_ she realized. Oh, he may look charming and act shallow, but there was indeed something going on beneath the surface.

Wynne finished rinsing her utensils and stood up. "What about Morrigan?" she asked. "The way she constantly complains, I can't see why she'd follow you at all."

"Her mother sent her with us, actually." Wynne had to gape again, and Bannon chuckled. "Flemeth," he said. "Crazy old lady out in the Wilds. Scary-crazy," he clarified.

"Do you know why?" she asked. Alistair had mentioned Flemeth and seemed rather serious in entertaining the belief she could be the ancient witch of legend.

Bannon shrugged and started walking back to the cart with her. "The Wilds were being devoured by the Blight. Even witches have to live."

"And then Zevran?" Wynne asked. "Is that story about him trying to kill you all- is that true?"

"Yep," he said with a grin.

"But..." Wynne wrinkled her brow. "But why would you even let him live? Never mind trusting him to come with you."

Bannon stopped and got that deeply thoughtful look on his face again. "Zevran was a slave. He doesn't want to kill us. He's just the sword." Bannon looked at her, and she could see the depths of intelligence in his dark eyes. "He's not the hand that wields it."

===#===

**Bandits**

Bodahn tugged at his short beard in thought. "Let me get this straight," he said. "You _want_ to get attacked by bandits?" He peered up at Bannon as if the elf's ears had just fallen off.

"Well... yes." Bannon resisted the urge to rub his forehead again. The others insisted the boot polish had faded completely by now, but he swore he could still see traces of it in Alistair's shaving mirror. "Look at it this way, they won't be robbing you, we'll be robbing them. It will be poetic justice. It'll be great!" He grinned in confidence.

Bodahn only looked at him as if two horns had grown out of his head where his fallen ears used to be. "It'll be dangerous."

"If you're worried, you can let Wynne and Alistair take your cart and you can travel a safe distance behind us."

"My boy won't leave Toby alone with strangers. And if anything happens to that poor creature, Sandahl will be beside himself."

"Nothing will happen," Bannon pointed out. "We've got two mages, two Grey Wardens, two assassins, and a giant qunari."

"If you all guarded my cart, the thieves wouldn't attack us at all."

"All right, if that's what you want," Bannon conceded heavily. "But if you want us to guard you, we'll need to be paid."

This made the dwarf frown. "If this goes wrong, if I lose _any_ of my stock, if my boy gets so much as a scratch on him- then I'm out. That's the end of it, and we won't be following you around any more."

Bannon raised his right hand. "You have my guarantee."

The dwarf narrowed his eyes. "All right, then. This road here," he pointed to a line on the map that cut a corner from the North Road to the road between Denerim and Amaranthine, "should take a day off our travel time. Now what's this crazy plan of yours?"

"Wynne, Leliana, and Morrigan will walk along with you and the cart. An old woman, a Chantry Sister- what could be more harmless? Oh, hey, Morrigan," he called, a new thought suddenly occurring to him. "Can you fly ahead and scout out where the ambush is?"

"Aye."

"Great! So when they get in sight, circle around and then fly back over them, and come get the rest of us."

"She'll what?" Bodahn asked.

"When you see a crow-"

"Raven!"

"-circle around, then fly back overhead, then you'll know when they're going to jump out at you."

"How long is it going to take for the rest of you to come save us?"

"It'll be fine," Bannon reassured him. "You haven't seen Wynne's giant stone hand." The dwarf's brows went up at that. "And Alistair will be with you. Throw a cloak over him and his shield, and he'll look like an old hunchback."

===#===

There's an old adage about the best laid battle plans not surviving the first engagement with the enemy. Nevertheless, the Wardens' group dispatched the bandits with relative ease and few injuries. The dwarves and their donkey were unscathed.

The loot could have been better. Bannon wondered if the closest Chantry had a reward posted for clearing out these bandits. He looked for insignia or anything else that would prove they'd been dispatched.

"Hey, Sten," he called to the qunari. "There's a huge sword here; do you want it?"

"No."

"Didn't you tell Alistair that a greatsword was your weapon of choice?"

"Yes."

"Well, this is a greatsword. Don't you want it instead of that maul?"

"No."

Well, no one could say he didn't ask. Bannon turned the massive weapon over to Bodahn. There were no decent helmets or elf-sized armor. Bannon found a light sword he thought he could use left-handed, but Zevran pronounced it trash.

Bannon restocked the Warden storage chest that rode on the cart, especially the liquor stash he and Zevran had pilfered. Everyone pitched in to load the dwarf's share, while he and Bannon haggled on who got what discount, trade, or cash.

Finally, they were ready to continue. Bodahn said, "There's an inn at the crossroads, about half a day from Denerim. Were you planning on pushing through to the city? Or stopping there?"

Bannon chewed the inside of his lip and looked down the road. He was so close to home, though it hardly felt like it. He could find out what happened to Soris, finally. A stone weight settled in his stomach. "Let's stop for the night," he said. "We'll need to figure out how we're going to handle Denerim."

===_X_===

* * *

_End Notes:_

_"It's not like the usual stiff, decorative, mean-looking Fereldan mabari statues. Look at his goofy smile, and his little pot belly!" His expression matched the dog's more and more. "And he's got a bone to chew on. He's so happy."_

-inspired by Whuffie's persona drawing. ::waves at Whuffie!::

(Whuffie is on WordPress dot com.)

_"I dunno."_

-Bannon doing his best impersonation of Riff, from Sluggy Freelance. (Sluggy Freelance is on sluggy dot com.)


	3. Denerim

**Denerim**

_CONTENT:_

Rating: Teen

Flavor: Adventure/Drama

Language: some

Violence: no

Nudity: no

Sex: no

Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

The opening sequence previously appeared (in a slightly different form) on the Cutting Room Floor. Ah, but I found somewhere work it in!

* * *

**Denerim**

===#===

At the Crossroads Inn, the companions and Bodahn crowded into one of the larger booths. Bannon made sure they were listening, then laid out his thoughts on their mission. "All right. Loghain and his soldiers are going to be on the lookout for two Grey Wardens. We need to be sure we do not attra-" Suddenly he stopped, then shot a look at the assassin sitting next to him.

Zevran looked back a moment. Then, with a silent sigh, he put his hands on the table and folded them neatly.

"-attract any attention," Bannon finished. He looked around the table. "To that end, I'm going to ask Morrigan, Wynne, and Sten to wait outside the city."

Only Wynne looked disappointed, but she said nothing against the idea.

"Don't start a war with each other while we're gone," Bannon admonished them. Perhaps it would be better to leave them in separate inns. Well, he couldn't plan for every contingency. On to phase two. "Alistair, I'm not sure you should go. You might be recognized."

Leliana said, "It is not unusual for a Chantry priestess to travel with a Templar."

"He does not have Templar armor," Zevran pointed out.

"But people may find it odd for a Chantry Sister to have no escort at all."

Alistair said, "Leliana and I have the most Chantry training. One or both of us should talk to this Brother Genitivi. Make sure he's not a total nutter making up stories of the Risen Andraste." He looked between Bannon and Leliana. "I'll keep my helmet on."

"All right," Bannon decided.

"Do you need to go in?" Alistair asked. "If we don't want both Grey Wardens sticking their heads into the lion's den."

"I have to," Bannon said. "I know my way around the city. At least the market area. And my family is there. I have to check on them. It won't take long; the Alienage gate is right next to the market..." He had more reassurances, but Leliana cut him off with a hand on his arm.

"Bannon, of course you have to go see your family."

Alistair nodded. "That's right, I forgot. You should go."

Bannon relaxed a notch. "All right, so me and Zevran will be servants working for Bodahn."

"I think not," Zevran said. "We shall be caravan guards."

"It's illegal for elves to carry weapons in the city," Bannon pointed out. "Especially without house livery."

"No one bothered me about my weapons when I was here."

"Did you care if the guards stared at you?"

"No, but-"

"It's not like we'll be unarmed," Bannon said. "We can carry knives."

"If we do end up confronting the guards, and having to fight our way free, we do _not_ want to be without armor and long blades," Zevran insisted.

"I hate to say it, but I agree with Zevran," Alistair said.

Leliana said, "It is a time of unrest. I do not believe it will be remarked if people see a merchant with armed guards."

Then Bodahn said, "I'll ask around. There should be some merchants up from Denerim. I can ask about how much trouble my elven guards will have."

Bannon nodded gratefully. "All right, that's a good idea." He took a breath, let it out. "I've never been through the north gate. Bodahn, have you come this way before?"

"Yes, 'tis an easy route straight through to the market."

"Won't we be passing right by the Royal Quarter?" Alistair asked with apprehension. "Like, right by the castle gate?"

"Loghain's guards are bound to be thickest there," Bannon agreed.

Leliana said, "We cannot circle around. A merchant would head straight to the market."

"We'll _all_ keep our helmets on," said Alistair.

"All right," Bannon said. "Once at the market, Bodahn will... market." The dwarf gave him a smile. "And do you think you can find me some decent armor?"

Bodahn nodded. "I know just the place!"

"Good. Cooper street is just off the market square. You two," Bannon told Leliana and Alistair, "can find Brother Genitivi, while Zevran and I visit the Alienage."

"We should not split up," Leliana said.

"Yes," Alistair agreed. "We'll go with you, then find Brother Genitivi."

Bannon glanced at Zevran. The assassin shrugged one shoulder. Bannon turned back to the others. "You actually want to go into an Alienage?"

"Why not?" Alistair asked.

"We'll be with you," Leliana said. "So they won't mob us, yes?"

Alistair looked at her with worry. Then he looked at Bannon.

The elf bit back a sigh. "It'll be fine," he said.

===#===

There was safety in numbers, Bannon found. Bodahn tagged along with a small caravan of merchants from Amaranthine, and they passed through the gate without even a second glance from the guards. Once inside, the comforting mantle of anonymity wrapped around him. Soldiers and guards were everywhere, but they weren't hunting for Grey Wardens, were they? After all, the Wardens would have to be crazy to just waltz into the stronghold of their greatest enemy. All they had to do was keep their heads down and not draw too much attention. The guards wouldn't even bother the armed elves as long as there were humans with them.

They left the merchants in the Market Square. They'd meet before nightfall to leave again, or at worst, return to the Crossroads Inn if they got separated.

It was only a few more steps to the Alienage gate and home. Bannon picked up the pace, eager for news. Good or bad, at least he'd know.

===#===

The massive gate was closed, an unusual occurence in the middle of the day. Alistair, Leliana, Bannon, and Zevran approached the gate, and Alistair called for the gate guard. The portly man barely stepped out from the gatehouse. "The Alienage is closed, by order of the Arl," he recited in a bored voice.

"But I live there," Bannon protested.

"Nobody goes in or out," said the guard, giving the elf a hard look. "Nobody."

"Why not?" Alistair asked.

The guardsman turned to the human, and his voice warmed an actual notch towards civility. As for Bannon and Zevran, they might as well have been a pair of dogs that Alistair was taking for a walk. "There was a riot," he explained. "Bunch of elves stormed the Arl's keep. They murdered the Arl's son. The old Arl, that is. That new fellow from up north called out a Purge on 'em." He shook his head slowly. "Root out the troublemakers- but they had to pull out, on account of the Plague."

"Plague?" Leliana asked. "What sort of plague?"

The guardsman shrugged offhandedly. "Some of the elves came back with the army. They had that darkspawn sickness. They started dying left and right." He was almost grinning with the excitement of rehashing bad news. Truly, he must have one of the most boring jobs in the city.

Bannon could barely hear him over the rushing in his ears. His face went white as blood drained from it. "My family is in there," he breathed. "I have to find out what's happened to them."

Alistair shot the elf a worried look. Leliana tried to charm the guard with her guileless smile. "Perhaps we can help, yes? I am a sister with the Chantry. I could bring healing prayers to th-"

"Not a chance," the guard cut her off. "Some fancy foreign healers went in there a couple weeks ago. Ain't heard a word since. I don't care if you're the Queen of Ferelden- _nobody_ goes in or comes out. It's worth more than my job- my _life_- to open these gates." He frowned and turned to go back into the gatehouse. "Now shove off before I call a squad of city guards to remove you."

Bannon was breathing, but he couldn't get any air. His vision darkened around the edges.

===#===

Zevran turned to his friend. Bannon's face was ashen, his lips almost blue. His eyes were dull with shock. Zevran gripped his arm. "Come on," he said in a low voice. He tugged when Bannon didn't respond, and practically dragged the Denerim elf after him. "Don't let the shems see you weak," Zevran hissed, squeezing Bannon's arm hard. The pain must have roused him a little, or else shame did, for he managed to straighten a bit and get his feet moving. "Leliana," Zevran said, "find the nearest tavern."

Her face creased in worry, she nodded, and led them across the marketplace. It wasn't long before she spied a sign graced with a foaming mug: The Gnawed Noble Tavern. Well, these places had the most unusual names, if not the most enticing.

The group bustled inside and Zevran shoved Bannon into the nearest booth. He sat across from his friend, and Leliana slid in next to the Denerim elf. Alistair had barely taken his seat when a waitress appeared. "Three whiskies," Zevran ordered without preamble.

The waitress frowned and looked askance at Alstair. He nodded in confusion, but that seemed to mollify the woman. She turned to Leliana. "Nothing for me, thank you," the bard said.

She turned to Bannon and rubbed his shoulder. "Just breathe," she told him softly. His eyes were fixed on the table top and glazing over.

After a few moments, the waitress returned and set down shot glasses in front of the three men. Alistair gave her a silver to cover it, and she went off again.

"Drink," Zevran prodded Bannon.

The elf's hands were shaking so badly that half of the whisky sloshed over his fingers and onto the table before he could toss back the glass. He coughed after the drink had burned its way down his throat.

Alistair winced in sympathy and reached for his own glass, but Zevran plucked it out of his fingers and slid it across to Bannon. The Denerim elf managed to get it all down his throat this time, though it was a near thing.

"Again." Zevran passed the third glass to him, and Bannon gulped it with a shudder.

He breathed in gasps now, nearly coughing from the hard liquor. A little colour returned to his face, though it was only two splotches of red high on his cheeks. Leliana rubbed his shoulder again.

Zevran took both his hands across the table. "Look at me," he said. Bannon didn't respond, so the assassin squeezed his hands hard- painfully hard. "_Look_ at me," he demanded.

Bannon glanced up.

"Stop imagining the worst possible things," he told the other elf firmly. "You don't know anything- they could be safe for all you know." Leliana shot him a doubtful look, but the assassin ignored her. Bannon dropped his eyes and they began to unfocus again. Zevran squeezed his fingers with nearly bone-crushing pressure, forcing Bannon to look at him again. "You don't _know_," he said pragmatically. "And you can't find out just now. So concentrate on what you are doing. Put it out of your mind."

"Ease up," Alistair told Zevran.

"No," said Bannon. "I'm all right. I... I'm all right." He swallowed thickly.

Zevran released his hands. "You two go on ahead to find this Brother Genitivi. I will sit with him until he is a bit more steady."

"Good idea," Alistair agreed. "The sooner we get out of Denerim, the sooner we can stop looking over our shoulders. Bannon," he looked at the shaken elf; "Where is Cooper street?"

Bannon raised his head and looked around, like a man waking from a dream. His eyes focused now on where they were, starting to recognize things. "Yes." He blinked away more mental cotton. "Yes, this is Cooper street. It should be down a little further." He gestured vaguely towards the street. "Before the turn."

Alistair nodded, then he and Leliana rose and exited the tavern.

Zevran picked a napkin up off the table and wiped his fingers where whiskey had gotten on them when he'd gripped Bannon's hands. Then he tossed it to the thief. Bannon was still in a daze; he didn't catch it with his usual skill. He picked it up and methodically rubbed his hands with it.

Zevran signaled the waitress. "Two ales," he said, not looking up, when she approached.

"Where's your master?" she demanded.

The elves looked up at that, even Bannon roused from his stupor. Zevran narrowed his eyes. "We do not have a master," he said coldly.

"Then I suggest you leave," she replied in clipped tones.

"What is the matter? The colour of our money not good enough for you?"

The waitress stepped back and turned towards the bar. "Humphrey!" she called. "See these troublemakers off."

"Ordering a drink is causing trouble?" Zevran snarled.

A bull-necked man came in answer to the waitress' summons. "Get out," he rumbled like an earthquake. "Afore I call the guards."

"Call them for what?" Zevran insisted, his accent deepening with ire. "We have done nothing-!"

"It's all right," Bannon cut him off. "We don't want any trouble," he reminded the assassin. The elves slid out of the booth and left, under the waitress' and bouncer's baleful glare.

===#===

The two crossed the street and stood on the boards, out of the mud. Zevran was fuming. "Let's wait out in back until she leaves," he said. "I'd like to stick a few knives in her."

"Nah, it's all right," Bannon told him. "I stole her napkin."

The Antivan snorted and chuckled dryly. It was stupid, of course, but at least Bannon was beginning to show signs of recovering his old self.

The Denerim elf cursed underbreath. "Couple of guards heading this way," he hissed. He turned away from the market, and the two elves began walking down the street. They tried to look nonchalant, but each felt the scrutiny of the guardsmen boring into their backs. They might not be recognized as being with the Grey Wardens, but they could be stopped just for being elves out on the streets in a city where elves were under quarantine.

"Where is this Genitivi's house?" the Antivan whispered out of the side of his mouth.

"I don't know," Bannon hissed back. "Look for a nameplate or- wait, there's Leliana."

They quickened their pace to meet the Chantry Sister. Bannon pressed the napkin into her hands and whispered, "Guards."

She frowned quizzically a moment, then swiftly turned to Alistair, who was just coming out the door. "Ser Dupont," she said distinctly. "I seem to have dropped my handkerchief. Please look for it inside."

"Uh? Oh, right." Alistair ducked back inside before the door had closed.

Leliana and the elves made to follow, but were stopped by the guard's call. "You there!" They turned, Leliana looking up in mild curiosity, Bannon and Zevran looking meekly at the ground.

"Are these your elves?" The two guards wore standard Denerim armor, so they were not from the castle, nor Loghain's men. Just the city watch. They scrutinized the elves.

"They work for me, yes," the Chantry Sister replied.

"Where are they from?"

"They're from Antiva, actually. Why do you ask?"

The second guard spoke gruffly to the elves. "You, boys; what's your names?"

"Paco, _signor_," Zevran said promptly.

"Davide, _signor_," Bannon supplied, copying the Antivan's honorific as well as the accent.

The guards seemed satisfied with that and left to continue on their patrol. The trio bustled into Brother Genitivi's house to rescue Alistair.

===#===

"It's not here," a dark-haired man was saying. "You must leave."

"I am sorry, Wylem," Leliana said soothingly. "But I am sure I must have dropped it in here. Perhaps in the study?"

Zevran took up a post by the window, looking out between the curtains to trace the guards' progress. Bannon just stood by the door, still looking at the space in front of his feet. He paid scant attention to what Alistair, Leliana, and their host were doing.

_Riot. Purge. Plague._

He felt numb; he didn't want to think about it, but he had to wonder: why had the elves rioted? The only answer he could think of was a protest against Soris' execution. Had they rioted at the gallows? Had they been able to wrest Soris from his fate? And if so, had he only lived long enough to be slaughtered in the Purge? Or to be sickened by the plague?

How had the Taint come here? Many Denerim elves were at Ostagar. Duncan had said they were well behind the army, protected. But Bannon had seen them running errands among the soldiers, even to the hospice tents. If an elf somehow picked up the Taint there... he would hide it from the shems. Bannon recalled the quarantine camp on the road to Lothering, the elven woman who'd tried to escape her fate.

He was shaken out of his morbid contemplation by a punch on the arm. "Hey," Zevran said, clearly not for the first time. "Our mistress has found her delicate kerchief. It is time to go."

"Oh. Right." He got the door for them and followed his companions out. _It's all my fault_, he thought. _I should never have left Soris to take the blame for Vaughn's murder. Cousin, I'm so, so sorry._

===_X_===


	4. Regression

**Regression**

_CONTENT:_

Rating: Teen

Flavor: Action/Adventure/Drama

Language: yes

Violence: yes

Nudity: no

Sex: no

Other: alcohol abuse

_Author's Notes:_

(none.)

* * *

**Regression**

===#===

Soris was dead.

Every time Bannon closed his eyes, he could see his cousin, the way he looked the last time he saw him: manacled by the guards, looking back over his shoulder, his face pale with fear, his eyes pleading for salvation. Why hadn't Duncan rescued him? _You,_ Soris' eyes accused, _why didn't_ you _rescue me?_

When they got back to the inn, Bannon grabbed a bottle, threw the money pouch on the bar, and went upstairs to shut himself in his room.

===#===

Alistair didn't know what to do. Bannon has suffered a terrible shock and the loss of his whole family. No matter how Leliana tried to be optimistic about it, or Zevran tried to ignore it, Alistair couldn't shake the evil feeling that the worst had happened.

Ever since the Fade dream of Goldana, where Bannon had brought him out of it by saying his real sister needed his protection, he'd wanted to go see her. She lived there in Denerim, and Alistair had been going to ask about taking time to do that. He'd been nervous, though. He hadn't seen his sister since he was a wee child. But she was his only living relative, that he knew of.

So, once Bannon had seen his family, he was going to ask. But then... Maker's Breath, the Taint was in the Alienage. He couldn't very well have a happy reunion with his sister after that.

And worst of all? Alistair was glad the Taint had only affected the elves. They could be contained within the Alienage, the quarantine strictly enforced by those thick walls, those heavy gates. Because if it got out from there, it would spread to the whole city. Goldana lived near the market; that was so close to the Alienage gate! Curse him for a selfish bastard, but he didn't want Goldana's family to suffer. The way Bannon's family surely had.

Alistair wanted his own bottle, so he could wash away the guilt he felt.

"Not again," Leliana said at his elbow. "Alistair, go talk to him."

"I can't."

Leliana tried to reason with him, but he wouldn't hear it. He rescued the money pouch and found their booth, where he sat across from Wynne.

"What's wrong?" the old mage asked in worry.

Alistair let Leliana explain. "Where's Morrigan?" he asked, interrupting the women's plotting of how to cheer up their leader.

Wynne said, "She disappeared soon after you left."

"Good riddance." He was about to ask where Sten was when the qunari and assassin approached the table.

"Are we leaving to fight darkspawn now?" the giant asked.

"No," Alistair said morosely.

Sten's brows made a deeper V. "Why?"

"Bannon's just lost his family. We can leave in the morning."

"What is this 'family,' and why can we not leave without it?"

Alistair gaped up at him. "You must have a family. People related to you?" Sten's eyes showed no glint of recognition. "I know you had a mother, at least."

"I do not see what one's bloodlines have to do-"

"Didn't your mother raise you? And your brothers and sisters? You know?" Alistair emphasized in annoyance. "Your _family_."

"We were raised in the creche by _Tamassrans_."

Alistair waved his hand in defeat. It wasn't worth the bother. He glanced at the elf next to the giant. "I suppose you don't have a family, either."

Zevran shrugged. "Need I reiterate how my mother sold me to the Crows?"

Alistair waved that off, too. "You could be a little more sympathetic," he said sharply.

"I am."

"_Very_ little."

"As a Grey Warden, Bannon should attend to his duty. Attachments... only interfere."

"I agree," said Sten.

"Well, take it from people with real feelings," Alistair growled, his own fears and guilt making him edgy, "Bannon needs some time. We can leave in the morning."

"If he's not hungover," Leliana mused darkly.

===#===

Alistair went to check on Bannon a few hours later, when every one else went to turn in. He got Zevran to pick the lock when Bannon didn't answer Alistair's increasingly more insistent knock. He feared the worst, but the elf was only passed out awkwardly in his bed. The former Templar breathed a small sigh of relief, then rearranged his friend into a more comfortable position and tucked the blankets around him.

He rescued the fallen bottle and began setting it on the nightstand, but the dregs still sloshed within, so he took it away, instead. "I hope it works," Alistair murmured, not unsympathetic to Bannon's plight. The liquor never stopped the Warden nightmares, but... sleeping indoors had alleviated them before.

Back out in the hall, Zevran had been joined by Leliana and Wynne. They looked on with various flavors of concern for their leader. "He's fine," Alistair assured them, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.

He was proven wrong in the dead hours before dawn. The elf's screams threw the whole inn into an uproar. Alistair barged back into the room and shook Bannon. "Wake up!" He had to try for several minutes, his heart thumping with worry. "_Wake up!_" He grabbed Bannon's arms as the elf clawed his way to consciousness. "You're all right; calm down. You're fine. You're safe! We're at the inn."

The wild energy drained out of the elf and he went limp. "Soris?" he croaked.

Alistair couldn't answer that one.

===#===

They headed out the next morning, not even waiting for Bodahn to travel with them. Alistair hoped they weren't leaving their tents too far behind. "What about your new armor?" he said with sudden inspiration. "Bodahn's got it for you."

Bannon just growled, "No one's going to attack us. We cleared out those bandits a couple of days ago- there's no way any new ones moved in that fast."

Alistair couldn't argue, so he just followed.

Wynne tried to talk to Bannon, and Leliana tried to get him to talk, but he ignored them both.

===#===

They stopped early to make camp, waiting for Bodahn. Bannon just tossed his bedroll out near the fire as if he didn't care whether he had a tent or not. He flopped down on it and produced a full bottle of wine out of the depths of his pack. He drank and stared at the small beginnings of their fire, while the others pussy-footed around, setting things up to start dinner and prepare the camp site.

An hour later, the light turned grey as the sun went down behind the treeline. Bodahn and his little donkey cart trundled up to the group. Alistair and Leliana paid the dwarf his fees and brought out the tents. Bodahn asked about the elf's armor, but Alistair put him off as best he could. Bannon wasn't fit to be making decisions, and things weren't getting any better.

Alistair sat down next to him. "You can't keep doing this."

"Leave me alone."

"I can't. Look, we need you. You know, the smart you."

Bannon closed his eyes, his head bowed in despair. "My family..."

"I understand that. Really, I do. Just-" Alistair cut himself off as Zevran approached, Leliana just behind his shoulder, motioning for Alistair to stop. He frowned in puzzlement, then yelped and leapt out of the way as the assassin flung a bucketful of water over the drunk elf. Bannon sputtered and shook water from his face, then gave Zevran a look of pure hatred.

Zevran gave it right back. "You are pathetic!" he sneered. "You don't have the balls to be my _patrone_. I should finish the job and kill your sad, sorry ass! Look at you! It would hardly be an effort."

"_You son of a bitch!_" Bannon leapt up and went for the assassin's throat. Zevran skipped back and flung the bucket at him, then ran like hell. Bannon knocked the missile aside and tore after him, deaf to Alistair's plea for reason.

The Templar got up to pursue them, but Leliana forestalled him. "Let them work it out."

"But-"

"Sometimes a gentle hand is not the best solution."

"But-" Alistair glanced at Morrigan and Wynne, who came over from their respective tents.

"What's going on?" Wynne demanded.

"Zevran is going to talk some sense into Bannon," Leliana replied calmly.

"Talk?" Alistair exclaimed. He looked off in the direction the elves had disappeared. Usually, they would run around the camp, staying close. This time, there was no commotion, no shouting and yelling. They'd run off, and worry gnawed at Alistair's stomach. "What if they kill each other?"

"I do not believe it will come to that." Was that a tinge of doubt in Leliana's voice?

"One less elf in our company would be quite a relief," Morrigan said.

Alistair bit his lip. Normally, he would agree with the witch. But now? He sighed.

===#===

The damned Antivan was nearly out of sight, dodging through the trees. Bannon bounced off a tree trunk, hit a root, and sprawled in the dirt. He grunted as the wind was knocked out of him, but he pushed himself up and continued his dogged pursuit. He didn't know which way they were headed or how far they were going, and he didn't care. Only one, slightly vague thought entered his mind- beating the shit out of that little shit.

Bannon rounded a copse of gorse bush and sighted his target. He put on a burst of speed and collided with Zevran, who'd suddenly stopped.

The elves went down in a heap and slid along the ground with the momentum. They wrestled a moment. Bannon straddled Zevran and began hitting him. He was too enraged to go for his weapons. With a snarl on his face, he lashed out, raining blow after heavy blow on the assassin until his arms ached.

Zevran only raised his arms to shield his face. Bannon's fists slapped loudly at the leather armor, the steel bracers. The Antivan uttered not a sound.

Suddenly, Bannon froze, one fist raised. What was he doing? Zevran only lay there, not fighting, not resisting, just... cowering. Like an elf cornered by the guards during a Purge. Bannon felt sick to his stomach.

A moment later, he felt much worse, when the assassin's knee drove into his groin. His vision flashed and he cried out. He tried to curl up and clutch himself, but the assassin rolled him off and started punching him in the face. Bannon's head rocked and he saw stars. He flailed at his attacker, and Zevran grabbed his hands.

Zevran bore down on him, pinning his wrists to the earth. He sat on Bannon's stomach, precluding his victim from being able to reciprocate with a well-placed knee. He snarled down at Bannon. "Your family is dead!" he spit, his words driving harder than his fists. "What are you doing to do about it, eh?"

Bannon's rage flared. He struggled against the assassin; if he couldn't use his arms or legs, he'd _bite_ the bastard! Zevran leaned forward, almost eagerly. He jerked his head down and cracked his skull against the bridge of Bannon's nose. The Denerim elf cried out and fell back.

"Well?" Zevran goaded. "What do you think you are going to do? Eh? _What?_"

"Nothing!" Bannon snarled. "I can't..."

"And if they are alive? What then, eh?" Zevran leaned more heavily on him as he squirmed to pull free. "If they are alive and Tainted? What do you think you will do? Go back there? Bribe the guard? Climb the gate? Crawl through the sewers to be with them? So you can watch them die? Slowly? Well?"

Bannon thrashed, but it was useless. He was helpless. "Nothing!" he screamed raggedly again. His eyes stung, his vision blurred. His heart ached. "There's nothing I can do," he sobbed. "Nothing..." He was useless and weak, crying like a baby in front of an assassin who would probably kill him in disgust.

Instead, Zevran eased his weight off. After a moment he said, "What are you going to do about this Brother Genitivi, then?"

Bannon sniffled and coughed, but he managed weakly. "We'll find him. And if the Sacred Ashes exist, we'll find those, too."

"And what about the Blight?"

"We still have the treaties with the Dalish, the dwarves. We'll gather an army."

"And Loghain and this petty civil war?"

"Eamon will handle him. Then we can fight these damned darkspawn." His voice grew stronger.

Zevran released his arms. "So, it is as I said, no? You need to concentrate on what you _can_ do. No matter what happens- or has happened, or will happen, or might happen- to your family, you must put it out of your mind."

But how could he, when he saw them every night, accusing him? When every thought of his father was of him being devoured from within by the Taint; every thought of Shianni was of her broken and bleeding under the guards; every thought of Soris was of his dangling, lifeless body? "Don't you have any family?"

"No," Zevran said, stone cold.

"Don't you have any friends? Loved ones? People you care about?"

"No," he said, even more coldly. "The Crows teach that love is a weakness." He helped Bannon up. "Affection, attachments, these are only tools that can be used against you. To hurt you." A shadow crossed Zevran's face, just for the briefest moment, then was gone. "You wish to survive the coming war, you need to be hard, like the Crows. Not weak. Especially not in front of the shems. You're an elf. You think they trust you to lead them? Perhaps now; but always in the back of their minds: 'He is inferior; he will make a mistake.' They will let you do the hard jobs, until they no longer need you. Or until you become too pathetic for them to put up with any more."

There was a loud _CRACK_ as Bannon's fist connected with the Antivan's arrogant jaw. Zevran flew backwards and landed roughly on the ground with a grunt.

"That was for calling me weak, and pathetic!" Bannon panted, but he felt a bit more in control of himself. "And for throwing a bucket of water on me!"

"Urgh," Zevran commented. "Sorry. I had to get your attention somehow. And get you away from the others."

"Come on." Bannon went over and gave him a hand up. "We should get back." He looked around. The dim light of dusk was deepening towards full dark. He looked expectantly at the assassin.

Only to find Zevran looking expectantly back at him. "Well?" Bannon prompted.

"Well what?"

The Denerim elf threw his hands in the air. "Great, you don't know where you ran? Where's the camp?"

"We came from this direction, no?" Zevran started forward. At least there was a skid mark in the dirt pointing the right way. "Did you not know where you were going?"

"I was chasing your sorry ass," Bannon snapped. "You have no idea where we are, do you?"

"Of course I do!" Zevran stopped and looked around to get his bearings. "We're in the forest."

"Ha! That shows what you know. We're in a _woodland_."

"Oh! Well, if you know the way, do lead on!"

Bannon staggered ahead a bit unsteadily. His stomach protested. "Oh, hang on... I'm going to puke." He leaned on a tree and did so, noisily.

"Are you sober now?" Zevran asked in annoyance.

"Now I have a headache." He gently touched his swelling nose.

"Well, I have a toothache," Zevran griped, cradling his jaw. "Don't expect any sympathy here."

Bannon turned away from the stinking puddle and wandered through the trees for a bit. He kept peering around for any sign of the campfire's light. "You really never had any friends?" he asked the elf shadowing him. "Nobody you could trust?"

"What, like you trust Alistair?"

"You said you worked with other assassins. You had to trust each other on a job."

"To a point," the Antivan confessed. "But let me tell you something. In the Crows, the word 'friend,' is used when someone wants you to do things for them, to help them, to protect them from their rivals... Then, when you expect the same consideration in return, they stab you in the back to be rid of you."

Bannon frowned. He stopped again and looked at the assassin, although it was getting hard to see him in the blue-black night shadows. "So when you call me your friend...?"

"Oh, I don't mean _friend_," Zevran deflected casually. "I mean a person of acquaintance with whom I am currently allied and loyal to. It is just shorter to say."

"So we're not friends?" Bannon clarified.

"Well," Zevran said, tilting his head away, "not in the usual sense of the term, no."

"And this thing you started calling me? Not _patrone_... _Amico_? What's that?"

Uncomfortably, Zevran admitted, "Ah, that means 'friend.'"

"'Friend' as in, I protect you from these Crows, and when I'm done, you stab me in the back?"

"No!" Zevran hissed in frustration. "What about you, is that what you plan to do with me? After this Blight of yours is over, and you have no need of me, you will eliminate me? Or cut me loose, toss me to the untender mercy of the Crows?"

"No, I..." Bannon looked away. He ran a hand back through his hair, wincing as his 'headache' flared up.

"We are just close companions," Zevran said. "I swore to serve you until you see fit to release me. You wish to be rid of me, that is all you need to do."

"No, that's not what I want." Bannon sighed. All right, the annoying little bugger had grown on him. Not that he would admit it out loud. "You know I need you."

"That is good."

"So find the camp."

"Me?"

"Yes, you, Ser I-Swore-An-Oath-To-Serve-You. So serve! I'm giving you an order."

"I am not your slave, Ser We-Don't-Have-Slavery-In-Ferelden! How do you expect me to find the camp, anyway?"

"You can yell for Alistair."

Zevran's eyewhites flashed wide in the darkness. "An assassin _never_ calls for help!"

"Oh, you expect me to do it?"

"Yes, I do." Zevran folded his arms.

"Fine, we can just stumble around all night like a couple of idiots." Bannon stalked off, keeping one hand out in front of him, in case any trees suddenly sprang up in his path.

"Carpenters yell for help, do they not?" Zevran's voice floated out of the darkness a short distance off to the left.

"Well, Grey Wardens-" Bannon bit his tongue. What an idiot! "Stand still a minute."

"Wh-"

"Just shut up and stand still." Bannon closed his eyes and tried to feel the tug in his blood that indicated Alistair's presence. "I think it's this way." He resumed heading in the same general direction. He wasn't sure. Maybe they weren't close enough for him to be able to sense Alistair. Maybe they'd spot the campfire light before Bannon could be sure of feeling the other Warden's presence.

"You think?" the assassin griped.

"Feel free to wander off on your own."

"If I find the camp, I will be sure to send a search party."

Bannon countered, "If I find the camp, I'll tell them you fell in a hole and need help getting out before a family of badgers gnaw your legs off."

"Well, _I_ will tell them-"

"Shh!"

"What, shh?"

"Shut up, and maybe I can find Alistair," Bannon snapped impatiently.

"How would you do that?"

"It's a Grey Warden thing."

"Hmm."

Bannon closed his eyes and tried to picture Alistair battling a hurlock. _He needs me,_ he cajoled his Taint-bearing blood. _Where is he?_ He felt a tug and turned eagerly in that direction. "This way," he told the assassin.

===#===

It wasn't long before they heard voices and saw the glimmer of firelight. The two elves walked back nonchalantly, trying to slip into camp unnoticed. But of course, the Grey Warden bond worked both ways.

Alistair turned to them. "There you are! We thought you'd gotten lost."

"What, us? Lost?" Bannon scoffed.

"Never!" Zevran added.

Alistair narrowed his eyes. "Well, it was dark out. What happened, you ran face first into some trees?"

"Mm, yes."

"Yeah."

"What's for dinner?" Bannon added.

"More bugs and slime." Alistair looked to the annoyed witch. "When are you going to learn to cook lamb and pea stew?"

"When are you going to learn to cook _anything?_"

"Hey, I can cook!"

"Not that I noticed."

"Hey!"

Bannon looked at Zevran. "And they complain about us," he muttered. "Hey, Wynne," he called, not waiting for Zevran's response. He dogged the mage. "What have you got to cure a headache?"

===_X_===


	5. The Spoiled Princess

**The Spoiled Princess**

_CONTENT:_

Rating: Teen

Flavor: Action/Adventure/Drama

Language: yes

Violence: yes

Nudity: no

Sex: no

Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Special thanks to Eaten By Dragons for help with plot conundrums about Soldier's Peak and Levi's expedition. Without which, this chapter might STILL be unfinished!

* * *

**The Spoiled Princess**

===#===

It was easier said than done, for Bannon to put his family and his home out of his mind. But Zevran's admonition not to look weak in front of the shems stung him, and he was nothing if not an accomplished actor. His new armor made him feel much better, as well. It fit him properly and was tinted steel blue. His hair had grown out and reached his shoulders again, his face no longer said 'LOSER,' and his helmet, which was definitely not made of a leather bucket, didn't chafe his ears. Zevran tried to wrangle it off him, but it didn't match the assassin's orange-tinged brown armor, anyway.

He talked with Wynne in the evenings. He flat out told her he didn't want to talk about his family or the Alienage. She surprised him by bringing up other topics of conversation. Mundane things, really. About the weather, what he learned in the Grey Wardens. She never preached at him, which was unexpected. She did make him think a lot, though.

When they got back to Lake Town, most of the refugees had gone. The place looked like the streets of Denerim after a Solstice festival: trampled. The road was churned to mud, the grass along the verges flattened. Scraps of awnings littered the streets where the standing market had been. The whole town seemed suddenly empty.

The directions Wylem had given them led to the west side of town, down a curving road that led to a hill overlooking Lake Calenhad. The broad-shouldered hill was topped by a cozy-looking inn and an old mill.

"The Spoiled Princess Inn," Leliana announced. "Oh, how charming!"

"Brother Genitivi should be here," Alistair said hopefully. "Or the innkeeper might know where he's gone next."

The inn was just as quaint and cozy inside, with bright white-washed walls hung with small tapestries and a painting of Lake Calenhad and the Tower. It had a wide back porch that overlooked the actual lake. The opposite shore was too distant to be seen; it looked like the water touched the edge of the world.

The companions wiped their feet in the entryway, then dispersed into the common room. It was a too early for the dinner hour, but there were a few handfuls of patrons at various tables. Bannon looked around, hoping to pick up some local gossip or news.

The barkeep was regaling Leliana with the fascinating history of the inn's name. Something about his sister, who threw the whole business over so she could become a minstrel in Denerim, while he was stuck here doing all the work. Well, that was a spoiled princess for you.

Then Alistair said, "We're looking for a man named Brother Genitivi. We were told he was staying here."

"No," the innkeeper said quickly. "He's not here."

"Are you sure? He's a scholar. He would have spent a lot of time up at the Circle Tower."

"No, there's no one here by that name. You must be mistaken."

Wynne said, "Do you know where he's gone? He wouldn't have left without letting people know how to reach him."

The innkeeper was shaking his head.

"Perhaps you thought he was a mage," Leliana said helpfully.

"I told you no, and you really need to stop asking questions."

Bannon flashed some coin, but the answer was the same. He huffed in frustration and moved away from the bar. His companions gathered around.

"What are we going to do?" Alistair asked. "Brother Genitivi is our only lead on the-"

Bannon cut him off before he started going on about the Sacred Ashes of Andraste. They didn't need to advertise. "We'll just have to go back to the Tower. That guy you were talking to there, maybe he knows more." He led everyone back out the door.

"Could we come back here for dinner, perhaps?" Leliana asked. "It is a lovely view."

Wynne said, "I would like that as well."

With as helpful as the owner had been, Bannon wasn't inclined to give him any patronage. "Didn't you see enough of the lake from the Tower?" he asked the mage.

"We don't really get to it from the inside," she replied wistfully. "The windows-" She yelped as Zevran flew past her and slammed Bannon to the ground.

"Ow! What the hell!?"

"Ambush!"

An arrow whizzed out from the trees and struck Alistair's shoulder. He cried out and pulled his shield around. Two more arrows thunked into it. He jumped forward and crouched in front of the elves.

Zevran rolled off Bannon and pulled out his bow. He let loose an arrow into the foliage. Bannon tried to get to his feet while staying down, which wasn't easy. He was saved from having to test his own archery skills when Wynne called forth and energy barrier between them and their attackers.

"Ice," she called to Morrigan.

The witch moved forward to Alistair's left and unleashed a cone of frigid air towards the side of the road. Sten charged forward, dangerously close behind the spell, Leliana at his heels. Bannon pulled his blades and nodded for Zevran to cut to the right. "Alistair?" he called.

"Wounded, here," the Templar called back with a strained tone.

The elf left him in Wynne's care and followed Zevran into the fray. A giant stone fist lobbed over the bushes and smashed the frozen attackers. Sten waded in with his warhammer, pulverizing those on the left fringe. Zevran gamely stabbed one of the ice statues on the right, but only managed to chip it. With a grunt of effort, Sten smashed the last two.

"We might have wanted to question them," Bannon suggested.

"Then you need to specify at the start of battle." The qunari shouldered his maul and walked back to the road.

Bannon turned to the assassin who had saved his life, again. "How did you know there was an ambush?"

"I always think there is an ambush at a blind turn in the road."

"You didn't when we came up this way."

"I did. But they were not here then." Zevran shrugged.

Bannon looked at the thawing chunks of assailant. They'd all been shems, he was pretty sure. "Leliana, do you recognize anything about them? They don't look like your typical bandit gang."

"Their clothing is too fine for that," she agreed, crouching by more of the remains. "They almost appear to be Chantry robes, but I do not recognize this emblem. It looks almost like wings."

Bannon pulled a medallion from the neck of one of the fallen. "What's this?" It was brass, struck with the symbol of a creature entwined with a pillar, wreathed in flames.

"It looks like a dragon," the bard said, frowning in thought.

"Are you sure it is not a snake?" Zevran asked. "It looks quite phallic to me."

The bard and the thief both rolled their eyes in unison. They relieved the mystery attackers of any other coins and jewelry. They all bore the medallion with its odd symbol.

The trio returned to the group. Alistair was testing the flex of his arm under Wynne's supervision; Morrigan was wiping blood from her belt knife.

"You all right?" Bannon checked with the other Warden.

"Good as new, thanks to Wynne," Alistair confirmed.

"You could be grateful for my help," Morrigan griped.

"I might, but you took far too much sadistic pleasure in it."

It seemed Morrigan didn't have a ready reply to that, so Bannon plunged into the momentary pause. "Before we go all the way up to the Tower, let's go back and see if the innkeeper knows what this is." He held up the medallion.

===#===

The innkeeper didn't look up right away when they came back in. When he saw them fanning out and lining up at the bar, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "You're back," he said stupidly.

"You seem surprised to see us- _alive_," Morrigan growled.

"I-I-I-I-"

Bannon dropped the medallion on the bar. "Just tell us what you know about this."

The man's eyes bugged out further. "Where did you get that?"

"Off your dead friends," Bannon said.

"Wait- no! You killed them?" He looked from one to the another of them. "Oh, thank the Maker! They're not my friends," he quickly assured the impatient group. "They came in here a fortnight ago; they moved in; they just took over the place! They threatened my family if I didn't do what they said."

"What did they say?" Bannon prompted.

"Just that if anyone came here asking questions about a Brother Genitivi, or Andraste's Ashes... I was supposed to say I didn't know anything, and alert these people. Disciples, they called themselves. Then every few days or a week or two, other knights- " he gestured at Alistair- "would come in, asking."

"You sent them into an ambush, without warning them?" Alistair asked with a scowl.

The tavern keeper flinched back. "I didn't have a choice! They were watching me all the time. My son is only three years old- they threatened to kill him in the most horrible way!"

Bannon put a hand on Alistair's shoulder and steered the conversation back on track. "So you do know this scholar Brother Genitivi? And where he went?"

"No!" The man threw his hands up in frustration. "There was never any scholar here, by any name."

Bannon spit a curse. "Then why the hell did Genitivi's assistant send us here?"

"Because he is not Genitivi's assistant," Zevran said.

"Shit!" Bannon slammed a fist on the bar.

"I'm sorry!" The innkeeper hastily backed up.

"It's not your fault," Alistair said soothingly. He shot a look at Bannon.

"I really am grateful that you've gotten rid of them."

"How grateful?" Bannon asked. This earned him a scolding look from Wynne, but she said nothing when they scored a free meal on the porch overlooking the lake.

===#===

"All right," Bannon said, to bring his troops to order after the grand luncheon. The innkeeper's wife had indeed been generously grateful with her cooking, and even the Wardens felt stuffed. But he couldn't sit around sipping tea and admiring the view any longer. "Alistair, you should go up to the Tower and see if the mages know any more about Brother Genitivi and where he might have gone from here. The rest of us can split up and ask around at the other local inns and taverns."

He surveyed the group with an eye to dividing them up to avoid interpersonal conflicts. No mages with the qunari. "Leliana, take Sten." No Circle mages with Apostates. "Zevran, go with Wynne; and Morrigan, if you'll accompany me, please."

"We can meet back here this evening," Alistair suggested.

"No, we can meet back at the town gates in an hour and head out," said Bannon.

"But we just got here. Bodahn won't be ready to leave yet."

"We don't have time to wait."

"We don't know how far ahead of us Genitivi might be. These people could already have him," Alistair said. "If it's more than a fortnight, one night won't make a difference."

"Especially if they have already killed him," Zevran pointed out.

Morrigan said, "I'm sure your new friends would be willing to gives us an excellent price on rooms for the night."

Bannon looked around at the group. "You all want to stay here tonight?" They nodded. "All right."

===#===

They finished with the handful of taverns and inns in short order. The lack of results frustrated Bannon to no end. "Some of the places have closed down, or changed owners since the refugees passed through," Leliana explained.

That left Alistair's lead as their only hope. He wasn't back from the Tower yet, so Bannon procured rooms for everyone, and sent Leliana to tell Bodahn they were leaving in the morning. Everyone else was at liberty until dinner.

Bannon tagged Zevran to go out and spar with him. There was a broad, flat area between the inn and the mill.

"You know," Zevran said harshly, "the next time you go running off with a mage, you take the preaching old harridan and give me the sexy young minx!"

Bannon chuckled and turned to face him, stepping backwards as they continued into the field. "What's the matter? She too tough for you?"

Zevran's only answer was a sour face. Bannon pulled out his sword and tossed it lightly over to his left hand. He swung it in a loose pattern. He'd been working up the strength and dexterity of his left hand; soon he could try a longer blade with it. Maybe he'd try that today. "Come on," he said to the assassin, who was dragging his feet. "If you're so mad about being stuck with Wynne, maybe you can beat me this time."

"I'm not going to spar with you," Zevran said.

"What? Why not?" Bannon turned to face him in concern.

The assassin folded his arms. "Because I believe it is high time we had that archery competition and found out just who is the true owner of the white yew bow. You cannot complain that we do not have enough room this time."

It was Bannon's turn to make a sour face. The assassin was right, he'd run out of excuses. He flourished the sword one last time, caught it in his right hand, and sheathed it smoothly.

There was a woodpile against the side of the inn. The elves commandeered some of the logs for targets.

Zevran, of course, bested Bannon easily.

"Well, I think that proves my point," the assassin gloated.

"That just proves you're good with _that_ bow. You might do worse with this one."

"Hand it over, and we'll see!"

Bannon gave him the white yew and took Melinda in exchange. They went to retrieve the arrows. Bannon only collected the brown-fletched ones, leaving Zevran to go chase Bannon's stray shots.

Bannon waited patiently for the grumbling assassin. He did better in the second round, since he was warmed up, but Zevran beat him yet again.

"Well?" the assassin insisted.

"All right, you win," Bannon grudgingly agreed. "It's yours."

"It's too much bow for you to handle, admit it."

"Not a chance." Bannon went to collect his arrows again.

"And fetch mine, since you lost," Zevran called after him, emphasizing the last bit.

"Yeah, yeah," the Denerim elf grumbled, but complied. The assassin seemed to be in a better mood when Bannon brought the arrows back.

He decided to practice some more, since he needed it, and they didn't always have a good spot to do so when they camped. Zevran lurked about, apparently with nothing better to do.

"So tell me what it's like, being a Crow," Bannon said, after shooting a few arrows.

"Like what? The harsh training? The brutal punishments?"

"No, like killing people."

"You mean murder?"

Bannon glanced over his shoulder at the assassin's bitter tone. "Murder is for amateurs," he quoted. "You must have had some wild adventures on your missions. Or at least made up some self-aggrandizing tall tales when you got back." He smirked at Zevran's glare and nocked another arrow.

"Would you like me to detail the effects of lanthraxus poisoning? I watched a man go through all seven stages, once."

"Yeah," Bannon agreed readily, with a bloodthirsty grin. "That sounds interesting."

"You're truly a twisted person," Zevran said. "Perhaps some other time."

Bannon lowered the bow and turned around. "What is wrong with you?"

The other elf's brow creased, and he chewed at the corner of his lip a moment. He shook himself and said carelessly, "Ah, is nothing. I-"

"Hey, guys!" Alistair came around the corner of the inn and waved for them to come over. They gathered up their arrows and went inside.

===#===

"This is Levi Dryden." Alistair introduced a rugged-looking human, his swarthy skin sun-weathered, his brown hair worn in warrior braids. "This is Bannon, the man I was telling you about."

If this shem were surprised that 'the man' was an elf, he didn't show it. "Grey Wardens, it's an honor." His voice was deep and as rugged as his looks, and held no trace of deceit or flattery.

Still, Bannon was worried. "Who said we were Grey Wardens?" He shot an accusing look at Alistair.

"Actually, the Templars," he replied hastily.

"They all speak of your deeds of valor in saving the Tower," Dryden said. "Were there really Blood Mages?"

"Yeah." Bannon grimaced. "And you're here because...?"

Alistair jumped in. "Duncan's promised him a Grey Warden expedition to Soldier's Peak."

The elf pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course Alistair would be all over that. "Look, Ser Dryden, you have to understand: Duncan is dead, along with the rest of the Wardens. And we have a lot of important matters to deal with to save Ferelden from the Blight."

"Of course, Ser Bannon." His manner was deferential, but his eyes gleamed with eagerness. "I understand completely, but I believe this expedition could be beneficial to your cause."

"You should really hear him out," Alistair added. "I think this could be worth our while."

Bannon fended off the tide of enthusiasm from the two men. "All right, let's go inside. I'll listen."

===#===

Dryden barely touched his mug of ale before he started in on his story. "My great-great-grandmother, Sophia Dryden, was commander of the Grey Wardens in the day of King Arlend. Back then, people believed that the Wardens were a throwback to an earlier time, an Order that had outlived its usefulness centuries ago.

"King Arlend was the one who banished the Wardens from Ferelden. No one knows exactly why. There was a civil war at about the same time, much worse than the one going on now against Loghain. Anyway, the records of the Wardens and the king's banishment were lost.

"Because my family, the Drydens, supported the Wardens, King Arlend stripped us of our land and titles." He tipped his head in an ironic salute to fate. "We used to be nobles, we did. We had an arling between Highever and Amaranthine, with seven bannorns... Ah well, they've all been incorporated into other estates, now."

He sipped from his mug to wet his throat. "Drydens are a tough lot. Patriotic. We stuck it out in Ferelden despite being in disgrace. Eventually, we became merchants, pretty successful ones. But we've always revered our grandam Sophia Dryden. Passed down stories of her brave deeds and tales of the Grey Wardens. Don't know as any of 'em are true or not. But ever since I was a boy, I've had a yearning to find out. There must be records up at the old Grey Warden stronghold at Soldier's Peak. King Arlend must have done something to incite rebellion against him. Maybe he had no just cause to take our land and titles. Maybe... I don't know, maybe it's just a boy's dream, but my family name could be reinstated."

Bannon said, "Or maybe you ancestors were traitors to the crown."

"And that may be." The man nodded. "All I ask is the honest truth. If your folk were cast down, wouldn't you want to know the real reason why? No offense, ser elf."

Bannon let the racial politics slide. "So why don't you go to this stronghold and look for your records? What do you need us for?"

"Well, the road up there is dangerous. Soldier's Peak was always remote, and since the Wardens were ousted, it's been abandoned. The passage was always narrow, and then there were rockslides that made it nearly impassable. As for what's beyond, no one knows. Could be wolves and bears up there, a dragon nesting. Or bandits could have found a way in; holed up in there. Could even be Dalish. I can't afford a full, armed expedition with no expectation of profit. That's why me and Duncan had a deal, see.

"After the Battle of Ostagar, Duncan was going to send some of the Wardens up there with me. I'd get to hopefully find out the truth about Sophia Dryden, and the Wardens would have access to anything in the keep they could use to combat the Blight. And if our findings exonerated my family, and good King Cailen saw fit to restore our lands, then we'd grant the Order use of the stronghold once again."

Levi frowned in to his mug. "Of course, well... the king... and poor Duncan..." He gathered himself and looked at Bannon. "But I figure this could be mutually beneficial to us. Perhaps even moreso, now. What with Loghain putting a bounty on your heads."

"We really don't have time for an expedition," Bannon said. "We have to get back to Denerim as soon as possible."

"Well, I can help. I know a shortcut to the North Road from here."

"Through the Bannorn?"

"Aye."

Bannon shook his head. "No, our guide said that trying to cut through the small roads of the Bannorn would take much longer than going up to the North Road."

"Well, that is generally true. But we won't be crossing through the Bannorn, just taking a different road up to the highway. I can save you a good day off your trip. Maybe two, if I don't spare the horses." He glanced at everyone in the group. "I have wagons enough to take you all."

Bannon's ears perked up. With this shortcut and the one near Amaranthine, plus horse-drawn wagons, they could cut their travel time to Denerim in half. "All right, that sounds good. You take us to Denerim, then we can see about this expedition."

Levi frowned a bit. "The pass to Soldier's Peak is right on the way. We can head up there, then on to Denerim."

"No, hang on. I'm trying to get us to Denerim faster. Not stop for side trips."

"Just one day. That's all I ask."

"You don't even know what's up there. We could get stuck for days. Hell, we could get killed."

"Well, that's my price for taking you to Denerim." Levi folded his arms as he leaned back in his chair. "An excursion to the Peak."

Bannon grit his teeth and was ready to cut the human loose. Then Alistair leaned over and asked, "Can we have a Grey Warden conference?"

===#===

The two Wardens went to the back corner of the common room. Bannon braced himself for an argument.

"You're not seriously going to turn him down?" Alistair began without preamble. "I think this is important. We should do it."

"Why? Just because Duncan promised? We don't have time, Alistair."

"But it's a stronghold. If Loghain's men come after us, we'll be able to hold them off."

"We cannot just sit up there in our snug stronghold waiting for soldiers to attack us. We need to be out here, fighting the Blight."

"But don't you see? This could help us do that."

"How?"

"There are Grey Warden records up there," Alistair said. "There might be crucial information on Darkspawn and how to best defeat them. You and I, we don't know anything about them- how they think, the things they do - or might do. Or there could be information on slaying the Archdemon. Hell, maybe it's allergic to daisies! We'd never be able to figure something like that out on our own."

Bannon rolled his eyes. "That's a bit of a stretch."

"That was just an example." Alistair was really building up momentum. "Plus, there could be Grey Warden supplies and gear up there. Weapons and armor, specifically designed- even enchanted- to be more effective against Darkspawn. And magic. Duncan once told us a story about these amulets that could hide a Warden from Darkspawn senses. Do you know how valuable that could be?"

The elf stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, I could think of a use or two."

"There might even be information on how to do the Joining ritual. You know how insane is is to try to combat a Blight with only two Grey Wardens. We could recruit others! Build a- well, an army is a bit much to ask, but a brigade. A platoon!"

Bannon was not so enthusiastic. "You think the others would want to join the Grey Wardens? _Become_ Wardens?" He looked back at their companions. Leliana and Wynne seemed engrossed in whatever story Levi was telling now. The others, not so much.

"Well...," Alistair said, looking in the same direction. "I don't know."

"Leliana might. If the Maker told her to." Bannon contemplated slipping a talking mouse into her tent at night. Alistair chewed his lip. The elf turned to him. "But the Joining is dangerous. I don't think we can afford to kill off half the people who are willing to help us fight."

"I suppose. But I still think it's worth it to have a look at this Soldier's Peak."

"I agree. It would be worth it _if_ even some of those things are up there. That's a big 'if' to gamble on. If we lose our lead on Brother Genitivi, we'll lose our one, slim chance to find the Sacred Ashes. Arl Eamon would die. Do you really think this detour would be worth more than his life?"

Alistair studied the boots of his Redcliffe knight armor.

"I'll agree to go up there _if_ we have time, _when_ we have time," Bannon said. "But unless we do end up with a whole brigade and can spare some people for the expedition, this Levi is going to have to realize we might not be able to get to it for some time."

Alistair nodded glumly.

===#===

"It's the best I can do," Bannon told Levi. "You have the promise of the Grey Warden commander, the same as you had from Duncan. But when it will happen... I'm sorry, I just don't know."

The man chewed it over and clearly didn't like the taste of it. But he was no worse off than he was before, so he agreed.

Then the question was, what were they going to do about Bodahn? Leliana went with Bannon to talk to the dwarven merchant. They knew he was keen to take some swords and other metalwork to Redcliffe, which Bannon encouraged him to do. He even offered to outright buy their tents and some other supplies they rented, and pack them in Levi's wagons. This seemed to make up the dwarf's mind. He'd much rather tag along with the Wardens and learn this new shortcut than go alone with his son into the southern quarter of Ferelden.

And so, the next morning, their caravan set out.

===_X_===

* * *

End Notes:

"You seem surprised to see us- _alive_," Morrigan growled.

-500 Bloodsong points if you saw Morrigan doing her Scar impersonation. ;)


End file.
